


another alphabet collection

by rittenden



Category: Emergency!
Genre: Alphabet Meme, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-03-22 20:08:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 24,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3742036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rittenden/pseuds/rittenden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short stories a la alphabet meme. Each defines the obscure word used in the title chapter. WIP. Unbeta'd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A is for Astriction

**Author's Note:**

> Standard disclaimers apply.
> 
> ...On temporary hiatus...

This was going to be a costly one.

Despite the efforts of four engine companies, three ladder trucks, one foam truck, two deluge trucks and three squads, the warehouse complex continued to burn brightly in the August twilight.

Captain Hank Stanley lifted his radio and called for a progress report. The news was not encouraging. Reports filed in of men down, structures collapsing and hard-earned ground lost. He shook his head, frustration drawing the corners of his mouth firmly downward.

As first on the scene, responsibility for deployment of equipment and personnel fell squarely on his shoulders. He would be glad when the battalion chief arrived... "LA Engine 51 - I want a second alarm for our location."

"10-4 51."

_Should just let the damn thing burn..._ The uncharitable thought flitted through the captain's mind and he pushed it away forcefully. _Not acceptable,_ _Stanley_ _._

Another engine appeared on the scene. Hank directed them to the north end of the building where the fire was burning hottest. He glanced over as one of the crew dashed over to their stockpile of oxygen tanks and quickly stripped off his SCBA, changing out old tank for new. He turned back to the fire and raised his radio again. "Engine 110 - get another line on the northwest corner if you can."

"10-4"

He pushed his helmet back, swiping at the sweat beading there, and turned to look at his engineer. "How're we doing, Mike?"

His gaze steady on the dials, Mike Stoker nodded once. "So far so good," he replied. It was all the answer he'd get from his stalwart crewman. A man of few words, was Stoker.

The radio crackled to life. The battalion chief was on scene. Hank let out a sigh of relief, now able to focus his complete attention on his own crew. "I'm going up to check on the guys, Mike," he said. Stoker gave another single nod.

Stuffing the radio in his turnout pocket, Hank moved toward the spot where he'd last seen his crew. The searing heat combined with the steam from multiple fire hoses instantly brought a sheen of stinging sweat to his face. He ignored it for now, peering through the eerily flickering lights to where a group of men were gathered.

He could just make out the word 'Lopez' stencilled on the back of one coat. Odds were that meant the man guiding the hose nozzle was Kelly. The next pair didn't look familiar - in fact, one of them bore the name 'Willis' on his back. Hank moved forward, placing his hand on Marco's shoulder. "How's it look?" he shouted into his lineman's ear.

"Like a waste of time!" the Hispanic man shouted back. "What's _in_ this place, Cap?"

Stanley's reply was drowned out by a roaring sound as one of the walls collapsed, allowing the fire more access to the air. Chet redirected their stream of water immediately with Marco moving in complete synchronization. He opened his mouth again, only to be distracted by the radio coming to life.

"Station 51," the battalion chief commanded. "Reports of a man down inside, northeast corner. Access on the east side. Send your rescue crew."

"Station 51, 10-4," Hank said sharply. To his linemen he asked "Where are Gage and DeSoto?"

Marco's reply was a nod further down the line. Hank clapped him on the shoulder and strode away, intent on finding his paramedics. A web of crossed large-bore hoses threatened to trip the unwary but Hank merely stepped over them with a cursory glance. Almost fifty yards further on he caught sight of the squad but his men were nowhere to be found.

"Any of you seen Gage or DeSoto?" he yelled at a pair manning a two-and-a-half inch line. The lead man shook his head but the guy behind him hollered back "They went inside. Heard the call from the squad." Hank gave him a thumb's-up and proceeded down the line to the single man door on the east side of the building. The door stood open, black smoke coiling through the opening and a discarded hose disappearing into the shadows.

Hank paced the few feet in front of the door, peering into the dark entrance with each pass. Seconds stretched into agonizing minutes with no sign of his men. Just as he was about to call for reinforcements, the smoke billowed outward and parted, revealing DeSoto with a limp figure spread across his shoulders. He hurried forward to assist in lowering the victim to the ground, only to have the paramedic shake his head quickly. Pulling off his mask Roy said "We've got to get him over to the triage area. Where's Johnny?"

"Hasn't come out yet," Stanley replied shortly. He picked up the radio. "This is Captain Stanley. I need another team of paramedics and a litter at the east entrance." To Roy he said "Put him down - go find your partner."

Carefully lying his patient on the pavement, Roy repositioned his air mask and dashed back into the gloom. Brice and Bellingham appeared seconds later bearing a stokes litter. "Take him to the triage area," Hank commanded. Without a word the duo did a quick assessment on the victim, affixed an oxygen mask to his face and then loaded him into the litter, disappearing the way they came.

Hank waited, his concentration drowning out the noise of the fire fighting effort going on around him, his focus narrowed to the three-by-seven black rectangle in front of him. Seconds ticked by as he fought the tension that threatened to immobilize him. _Breathe..._

He thought he saw movement in the inky darkness. He squinted his eyes, hoping to make out his two missing crewmen, only to have them widen as the smoke suddenly pulled back into the building. He barely managed to dive out of the way before the doorway exploded in a ball of heat and flame.

"Captain Stanley to Battalion!" Hank barked into the radio. "We have an explosion at the east side access. My men are still inside!"

Two linemen came running up with a charged hose, immediately unleashing it on the flaming entrance. The radio snapped with the voice of the battalion chief ordering crews to Hank's location. When he could get a word in, Hank called to his paramedic crew, holding his breath for a response.

"Cap..." Roy's voice came back after a moment. "We're in a storage area roughly thirty feet from the entrance. There's no way we're gonna be able to get back out that way."

Heart sinking, Hank asked "Are you guys alright?"

"We're fine," the paramedic replied. "Gage was stuck under some fallen racking but it looks like he's just banged up a bit." There was a long pause. "Uh... Cap? This storage area has barrels of pool chemicals..."

The brief moment of elation at hearing his men were alright dissipated quickly at Roy's last statement. Pool chemicals were fine for pools - highly dangerous for fires.

"Can you guys get to another entrance?"

"We can try."

Hank exchanged a look with the linemen. The radio crackled with the voice of the battalion chief. "Battalion to Captain Stanley. Copy your crew's last transmission."

"DeSoto to Captain Stanley. Looks like we can make it to the south side of the building," Roy called. "But I can't see a door."

"Head that way," Hank said firmly. "We'll find you one."

Running around the side of the building, Hank was met by the battalion chief holding a large sheaf of papers. "Blueprints, Hank," the man said. "Take a look."

Hank grabbed one side of the papers and scanned it quickly. "They were here," he said, pointing. "They're heading here." He stabbed the page decisively. "I'm gonna need a line and a K12."

"You got it." The chief moved off, issuing orders into the radio as Hank ran for the south wall. He was surprised to see his own men gathering at the site. Chet and Marco supported a charged hose, backed up by Mike carrying the bulky cutting device.

"Make me a door!" he barked. Immediately the saw whined into action, sparks flying as it bit into the corrugated metal. He watched, anxiety rising, as a ragged line appeared slowly under Mike's expert handling. As impatient as he was feeling, he knew his engineer was going as fast as possible.

Hefting the radio, Hank called "Roy? How you guys doing in there?" It wasn't proper protocol but at this point he didn't care.

"We can hear the K12, Cap," Roy answered immediately. "We're heading that way now."

"When that comes down I want you to fog the doorway," Hank said to his linemen. "We don't want anything to get too wet in there." Both men nodded.

Turning back to the work at hand, Hank pulled on his gloves preparatory to pulling away the severed metal. As Mike made the final cut he said "Okay - let me in there!" The engineer moved aside, setting the saw on the ground before reaching in to help.

They pried the metal backwards, barely getting out of the way before Chet and Marco moved in with their hose, circling the nozzle to create a gentle mist. Smoke poured out of the opening.

Hank peered over their heads. "Roy? John?" he called.

"Right here, Cap!" DeSoto's voice drifted back. "Move that hose, would ya?"

The linemen backed away, shutting off the water. Seconds later Gage appeared, leaning heavily on his partner's shoulder. The two men exited awkwardly, Gage hopping on one foot. "Are you guys alright?" Hank asked.

Roy lowered Johnny to the pavement and then peeled off his mask, taking a deep breath. "Yeah..." he replied with a cough. "Great timing guys."

"No kidding," the other paramedic said as he removed his own mask. "My alarm went off a minute ago."

"Mine too."

Hank smiled at his linemen and engineer. "Way to go, men," he congratulated them. To the paramedics he added "You two get over to the triage area and get checked out." He was met by a series of nods.

"Captain Stanley to Battalion," he said into the radio. "Rescue successful. They're both out." A muffled cheer from the nearby crews broadened the smile on his face.

The chief's response was equally gratifying. "Well done, 51. I think we've got a handle on things here. Stand down your crew."

"10-4." Hank lowered the radio and looked at his bedraggled men. "That's it for us, boys. Let's get out of here." He watched as Chet Kelly helped his 'pigeon' to his feet - foot - while Marco peeled off Roy's SCBA apparatus. Mike picked up the K12.

Following his crew back to the engine, Hank paused for a moment to look at the burning warehouse as the fire gradually lost intensity, finally succumbing to the onslaught of water and foam unleashed upon it. He was unaware that his crew had stopped as well until Marco's sad voice broke into his reverie. "Looks like we lost this one."

To the average civilian, it may have seemed a strange sentiment. For a fire as big as this one, with as many personnel on scene, the casualty list was surprisingly short - the severity of injury remarkably light. A feat nothing short of miraculous, to most.

To Hank and his crew - indeed, to every man working here -  the feeling was vastly different. Preserving life was only half of the battle they waged tonight and the loss of this building weighed heavily on their sense of responsibility. Turning to his crew, the captain said somberly "We'll get the next one, men. Let's go home."


	2. B is for Borasco

Paramedic John Gage cast his partner a sideways glance, hoping the anxiety he was feeling didn't show on his face.

"Relax, Junior," Roy DeSoto said calmly. "Don't get all worked up before you know the situation."

"I'm not all worked up," Johnny protested automatically. "What makes you think I'm all worked up?"

Roy pointed without looking. "The death grip you've got on that handle tells me you're all worked up."

Johnny looked at his white-knuckled fingers wrapped around the grab bar of the squad. There was no real denying it - he _was_ 'all worked up' about their current call. "It's just... You _know_ how I feel about water rescues, Roy."

"It'll be fine."

A scant few minutes later, Roy smoothly turned the squad onto the tarmac apron at the Coast Guard air station. Both men leaped out of the truck, grabbing their equipment before running at a half-crouch toward the waiting helicopter.

As the door slid shut behind them, Johnny and Roy donned the regulation life vests and then pulled on radio headsets. "What have we got?" Roy asked.

The voice of the pilot came back to them instantly, unhampered by the growing noise of the chopper's engine as it lifted off. "Small pleasure craft with an onboard explosion about ten miles north of Catalina island. Four people on board, one of them injured. We got one mayday call from them and then nothing. Figure the radio was damaged. Took us a while to find them, what with the weather."

"What kind of injuries?" Johnny asked.

"Unknown at this point," the co-pilot replied. "From what we could see on the flyover one of them looks pretty bad."

Looking out at the grey skies and gathering clouds, Johnny asked "How's the weather holding for this?"

"Let's put it this way," answered the pilot. "Don't take any longer than you have to."

The paramedics exchanged a long look, silently communicating their concern. The helicopter was already experiencing some turbulence from the wind, a sure sign that a storm was brewing. It would be faster to have only one of them on the boat. Roy finally spoke. "I'll go."

Tightening his lips in a grim line, Johnny shook his head. "No, I'll go. I'm the lighter one." He tried for a brighter tone. "Guess being skinny comes in handy sometimes."

Roy wasn't buying it. "Are you sure? I can go."

"You know it'd be easier if I do it," Johnny replied, shaking his head. "Let's just not waste any time, huh?" To the pilot he asked "What kind of window are we looking at here?"

"Weather reports a storm front moving in. Figure we got an hour - maybe hour and a half before we'll have to pull out and wait for it to clear," the man replied.

"Alright." Johnny pulled off the headset and reached for the sling that would lower him into the water. As he fastened it around him, Roy put the handy talkie into a waterproof bag and passed it over. "Thanks," he said shortly.

"In and out," Roy commanded. "Don't take any longer than you have to, okay?" The words were unnecessary but he felt compelled to say them.

Johnny nodded. "You know it," he replied with a grin.

The pilot suddenly spoke into Roy's headset. "Down there."

The two paramedics looked out the window. Far below in the choppy waters lay a 25-foot cabin cruiser. A trickle of smoke from below decks was barely visible before being whisked away by the rising winds. The craft listed slightly to its port side where a man stood, waving his arms over his head.

The co-pilot climbed through from the cockpit and looked at Johnny. "You ready?" he shouted over the sound of the engine. Johnny gave him a thumb's up and moved to the door. "Here we go," the man added, yanking the door open.

Johnny gave Roy a weak grin before moving out onto the chopper's landing skids. He glanced down, swallowed and then nodded to the co-pilot. He stepped off the skid, allowing himself to dangle briefly in the air before the cable began lowering him to the waiting boat.

Roy held his breath as he watched. Although it only took a minute for Johnny to reach the deck of the disabled craft, every second ratcheted his concern up another notch, sure that at any moment something would happen to dump his partner in the turbulent water.

Finally gaining his footing on the slick deck, Johnny slipped out of the sling and signalled the co-pilot to haul it back up. He turned to the man who'd been waving.

"What are they doing?" he demanded in a panicky voice. "Where are they going?"

"They're not going anywhere," Johnny answered, his tone soothing. "They're gonna lower a basket down instead. You've got injured people on board?" he added in an attempt to distract the man.

"Yeah," he nodded. "My buddy Frank. We moved him down below 'cause of the weather. Frank went to check on the engine just before it blew. I don't know what happened!" His voice rose as anxiety once again threatened to take over.

Johnny put his hand on the man's shoulder. "Just take it easy. Show me where he is, okay?" he asked, gently pushing him towards the steps leading into the bowels of the craft. "My name's John - what's yours?"

"Ted - Ted Larson." He quickly scurried down the stairs. "My wife Natalie and Frank's wife Gloria are here, too." Leading the way into a small seating area, Ted gestured to two women who were gathered around another figure stretched out on a sofa.

"Ladies," Johnny said. "My name's John Gage and I'm a paramedic with the LA County fire department. I'm here to help you get off this boat and back to shore, alright?"

Both women nodded and one asked "Can you help my husband? He's badly hurt."

"You must be Gloria, then, huh?" Johnny asked, moving in beside her. He quickly checked the man's vital signs. "Okay, Gloria." The woman nodded, her eyebrows raised in question. "Your husband's gonna be alright. We're gonna load him up into the helicopter and take him to a hospital, okay?  My partner's waiting in the chopper." To Ted he said "Help me get him up top, will ya?"

Together they managed to carry the unconscious man up onto the deck. Johnny instructed the two women to stand on the higher side of the leaning craft to help counterbalance it. The basket was waiting for them. As they loaded Frank into it, Johnny asked "Is this boat taking on water?"

"Just a little," Frank replied over the roar of the water and helicopter blades. "Not badly."

Johnny nodded, watching as the basket was lifted into Roy's waiting hands. Once Frank was out, the co-pilot swung the basket out and proceeded to lower it to the boat. He turned to the two women. "You ladies are next," he said. At their nods, he said to Frank "They'll lower a sling for you and me."

The other man chewed his lip anxiously, lifting his gaze to the basket. When it set down both Gloria and Natalie climbed inside.

"Now hold on," Johnny instructed, placing their hands on the upright supports. "You'll be perfectly safe in here but stay still, okay?" They nodded wordlessly. As the basket lifted again, Johnny said to Frank. "Alright - you're next."

Frank stared wide-eyed past Johnny's shoulder. The paramedic turned, his heart skipping a beat at what he saw. A rolling bank of clouds was moving in fast. Johnny looked up at the chopper as he ripped the plastic bag off the radio and brought it to his mouth.

Before he could speak the pilot's voice came over the radio. "Storm squall! We've gotta get out of here fast!"

As the basket disappeared into the aircraft, Johnny grabbed Frank's arm and propelled him into the cabin. "Get in and get down!" he commanded. The other man scurried down the steps, closely followed by Johnny. As he slammed the hatch shut he caught a glimpse of the helicopter moving away, barely ahead of the high-powered wind that preceded the storm.

"Get down on the floor and cover your head!" Johnny said, following his own instructions. They each threw themselves to the floor to await the worst.

Barely a minute passed before the small craft started to heave. Loud crashes told of breaking windows as the boat was pelted with hailstones the size of golf balls. The two men were showered first with cascades of shattered safety glass and then the hail itself. Johnny flinched as his unprotected arms were hit with what felt like a thousand well-aimed marbles. Within minutes the hail was replaced by a deluge of icy rain, immediately soaking him to the skin.

Johnny lifted his head a fraction, shielding his eyes from the onslaught of water to peer at his companion. Ted was curled up under a fold-out table, one of the sofa cushions held over his head. _Wish I'd thought of that_ Johnny thought ruefully as another wave of rain and saltwater poured into the cabin.

Almost as suddenly as it began, the storm abated. Wiping the moisture from his face, Johnny slowly pushed off from the floor and crawled up to peer out the open windows. Although still grey and cloudy, the sky showed no sign of the vicious storm they'd just encountered. Wind soughed through the cabin, adding to his discomfort, but it was nowhere near the strength of moments ago.

Blowing out a breath of relief, Johnny got to his feet and moved over to where Ted lay under cover. "Hey man," he said. "Are you alright?"

Ted pushed the cushion away and climbed out from his makeshift shelter. "Yeah," he replied, his voice shaking. "Yeah... I'm good. I'm okay."

"Let's get out of here then," Johnny replied. "The chopper should be back for us shortly."

Ted followed Johnny up onto the main deck, letting out a groan when he saw the condition of his boat. "Natalie's gonna have a field day," he moaned. "She didn't want me to buy a boat in the first place and _now_... It's gonna cost a fortune to fix this!"

Johnny shook his head. "I don't know if you're gonna be able to," he said sombrely, pointing. "Look at the water line." With the added weight from the rain, the boat was now lying low in the water, waves lapping over the railing on the aft port side. "We'll be lucky if we're not dog paddling by the time the Coast Guard comes back." He turned to Ted. "You got any life vests on this thing?"

"There should be some in the forward storage compartment," Ted replied. "At least the salesman said that's where they were."

"You didn't check before you went out?" Johnny asked incredulously. The other man shook his head. "Well go check now. If they're there, put one on!" Ted hurried back down the steps into the cabin.

Johnny carefully made his way across the slippery decking to the starboard side of the boat and leaned against the railing. Fatigue washed over him, leaving him weak and mildly dizzy. He rubbed his hands over his face and then lifted his head to the sky, searching for the rescue helicopter. _Come on, partner. Where are you?_

Ted's voice broke him out of his reverie. "Uh... I found this on the floor - it's a little wet."

Looking over, Johnny bit back a groan as he took in the sight of Ted holding aloft a dripping handy-talkie. He held out his hand. "Let me see it."

As he inspected the radio Ted asked "Do you think they'll be able to find her if she goes down?"

"Who?" Johnny asked, distracted. He turned the power button on and off and pressed the squelch button, to no avail.

"My boat," Ted replied. "If she sinks, do you think they can find her?"

Johnny gave the radio up as a loss. "Mister," he said tiredly. "I don't know anything about boats other than that they float on water. I _certainly_ wouldn't know what to do about a boat that didn't." At Ted's crestfallen look he added "There's probably guys out there that do, though."

"I just don't understand how the engine could blow like that," Ted said softly, shaking his head. "The salesman said they just replaced it."

"Then I'd talk to my insurance company if I were you." Johnny looked out over the water, searching for something to indicate the chopper was returning.

After a moment Ted asked "What do you think is taking so long?"

Johnny shrugged. "They were trying to outrun the storm. Once it passes and they refuel, they'll be back." He didn't add that the helicopter might have been caught in the surge - and therefore might not be coming back. He fought down the knot of worry for his partner. "We just have to wait a bit, that's all," he went on. Turning to Ted he added "Are you sure you're okay? You didn't hit your head or anything?"

"No, I'm fine," the man replied. "You're looking pretty beat up yourself."

Looking down at the multiple cuts and bruises that dotted his arms, Johnny said "They look worse than they are." He lifted his head. "That was some storm, huh?"

"Squall," Ted said succinctly. "It's called a squall."

"Whatever." Peering across the water, Johnny asked "What's that?"

Ted joined him at the railing. "It looks like a boat," he replied.

Johnny watched as the pinpoint of color on the water grew in size. Before long he could make out the telltale markings of a Coast Guard cutter. "Thank God," he muttered. He looked up at the leaden sky. "Come on... come on..."

"What's the matter?"

Turning to his companion, Johnny briefly thought of dismissing his concerns. Instead he said "The chopper pilot said there was a storm front moving in. I'm just hoping they get us out of here before that happens."

Ted's worried look mirrored Johnny's as he scanned the skies, his gaze dropping to the approaching craft. "Hurry up, guys," he said.

Less than five minutes later the cutter pulled up alongside, many hands reaching down to help the two men aboard. The wind had picked up considerably and Johnny's teeth were chattering from the cold that sliced through his drenched clothing. One of the crew handed him a thick blanket which he wrapped around his shivering body gratefully.

"They put a buoy on her." Ted spoke at his elbow, his voice saddened. Johnny looked up to see another of the crew climbing aboard. "In case she sinks, I mean."

Trying for a reassuring tone, Johnny replied "Well there's your answer. Now you know they'll be able to find her and bring her back in, right?"

"Yeah." Ted smiled half-heartedly. "Yeah, you're right."

"Well okay then," Johnny returned. "What say you and I go down and see if they've got any coffee, huh?"

"Okay but..." Ted looked around. "Won't we be in just as much trouble on this if a storm hits?"

One of the crew, passing by at that moment, paused to reply. "If another squall blows in we'll have our hands full, sir. Your average storm this close to shore won't be a problem." He touched his cap in salute and moved away.

"There's your answer," Johnny said, careful not to let his own relief show. "Now let's go find that coffee."


	3. C is for Catena

It was a wet June.

Days and days on end of grey, miserable, damp weather. Even if it wasn't actively raining, there was still an unending low blanket of dark cloud promising more. Residents became moody and depressed. Visitors scoffed at the terms 'sunny California' and 'Golden State'. The optimistic hoped for a better July.

Towards the end of the month, the clouds slowly began to dissipate. Occasional rays of sunlight broke through the gloom. The Fourth was celebrated with renewed vigour as waterlogged lawns began to dry out and picnic tables overloaded with food appeared. Rain gear was no longer needed and people rejoiced.

A week later they cursed their luck. Sun beat down relentlessly from a cloudless sky, baking the earth and melting the streets. Power outages became the norm as transformers blew, unable to keep up with the additional loads required to keep the city's inhabitants cool. Without the benefit of a comforting breeze heat built like a potter's kiln, hot days giving way to hotter nights.

In the midst of the heat wave, those at the edges of the city looked to the heavens with mixed emotions. Far off in the distance clouds were gathering but they appeared ominous and heavy. As the day progressed they picked up speed, pushing hot air before them as they came. No hint of moisture carried on the wind and the people began to feel fear.

It was just going on midnight when the first sharp crack of thunder announced its arrival. The lead bank of clouds exploded with light and sound as it discharged its deadly load, sending a fork of blinding white light into the dry brush. Moments later the hillside was in flames, unnoticed on the lee side of a far-off hill.

In a darkened building on an unnaturally-quiet street, six men tossed uncomfortably on their cots, trying in vain for the respite of sleep. Windows thrown open wide caught none of the gathering wind and so they lay on their bedclothes, clad in only their undergarments and sticky with sweat.

Suddenly night became day as the overhead lights flipped on and the klaxons blared. Bolting from their troubled rest, the men climbed into their gear and raced for their vehicles, trepidation growing as the tones continued to sound. At last the dispatcher's voice rang out, notifying them of their destination.

The two heavy vehicles peeled out into the airless night, turning in unison onto the street and picking up speed. Many crews had been called out with this alarm and as they neared their destination, theirs became part of a convoy of emergency vehicles.

Orchestrated by bullhorns and guided by instinct, men poured from open doors and grabbed gear and hoses, heading for the nearest anchor point to begin their attack. No stranger to wildfire, they threw themselves determinedly into the task of driving back the flames.

More vehicles arrived, disgorging extra manpower and equipment. Resolve strengthened as the lines swelled and the fire cowered in its wake. Those directing the crews stood a little taller as they realized the beast was being successfully turned back on itself. They called in water drops for good measure.

Suddenly the beast seemed to pause and draw breath. All around it the men grew uneasy, knowing their success was about to be short-lived. In a heartbeat the wind changed direction and the battle began anew.

Back-pedalling fast, the crews regrouped and hurriedly changed tactics. Bulldozers and trackhoes were brought in to create a firebreak, chewing up the available fuel to starve the fire. Hoses gave way to picks and shovels as the men fought to clear the ground of vegetation. Aching muscles and parched throats were ignored as they threw themselves into their tasks.

For hours they laboured in the swirling smoke and ash, at times unable to see the man next to them as they churned up the dry earth, knowing only that they needed to work harder, faster, _more_ before the fire got ahead of them again. At last the call came down the line - _under control_ \- and the pace slowed, bowed backs straightened and the desperate work came to a halt.

The freshest crews were bid to stay and monitor the situation. Numbers were tallied and reported of damages and injuries. The first to respond were dismissed and climbed wearily into their vehicles, their muscles now screaming in protest.

Two vehicles separated from the fray and slowly headed back the way they came. Once back in the bay, their doors remained closed for a moment as the occupants gathered the strength to climb out. Eventually the relief crew emerged from the day room to assist. A weary line of soot-stained men made their way to the shower as the next shift pulled out buckets and rags to wash the greasy ash from the vehicles.

Clouds began to gather as the men made their way home, momentarily revived by the shower and fresh clothing but knowing it won't last. One in particular craves the embrace of his family before the comfort of his bed and it's this thought that gives him the strength to climb the steps of his house as the rain begins to fall.

He's greeted at the door by the unsmiling faces of his children. They each express pleasure at his arrival but he isn't fooled. As he looks from one to the other he asks what's the matter. They exchange a sad glance before confessing that they'd wanted to go to the park today but now they have to stay home.

As he kisses his wife good-morning, Roy DeSoto replies "Don't knock it."


	4. D is for Duomachy

It had to stop.

Water bombs, flour bombs, short-sheeting, helmet pudding - all of that he'd put up with or dealt with. Extra laundry duty, extra latrine duty... It was getting so those two chores were virtually ignored by the other crew members because they knew they wouldn't be doing them.

But things were getting out of hand.

He should've suspected something when the massively ugly cake showed up late August. Kelly said it was an unglamorous attempt at making something nice for Gage's birthday. When Gage cut into it however - and it exploded - it was revealed to be nothing more than a balloon in a shoebox lid covered with canned frosting.

Then came the Halloween debacle - with Gage bringing in the candied apples. He couldn't bring himself to trust a candied apple anymore, something his wife refused to understand. They all helped themselves to the crunchy treats with gusto... except Kelly. After his first huge bite and the subsequent choking and gagging that led DeSoto to think they needed to call it in, Kelly shrieked that his candied 'apple' was actually a massive yellow onion.

After that, things quieted down for a while. He'd actually begun to believe that the war was over when the next incident shattered the truce. They'd all filed out at the end of a long shift (three days, because of all that rain - what a nightmare!) only to discover Kelly - or the Phantom, as he so ridiculously claimed - had had a burst of energy in the night. Gage's car... truck... whatever that thing was, was completely wrapped in butcher paper and packing tape. He had to give the Irishman _some_ credit - that was interesting, not to mention expensive. Given the extent of their exhaustion, however, they all pitched in to unwrap the darn thing.

Not that he'd tell anyone, but he found the next gag kind of funny. After listening to well over half an hour of Kelly telling everyone what a fantastic example of the human specimen he was, Gage then managed to completely paper the inside of Kelly's locker with photographs of himself. There must have been over a hundred 5x7s of Kelly's mug lining that cabinet. It backfired, though. Turned out the lineman actually _liked_ the new decor and kept it there for weeks.

He waited for the return shot but it didn't come. Once again falling prey to a false sense of peace, he didn't realize the next volley would come from Gage again - and slowly.

With his penchant for picking up girls, Gage befriended the petite redhead that worked at Kelly's dry-cleaning outfit and managed to sweet-talk her into subtly altering Kelly's uniforms a little at a time. Over the next few weeks Kelly started looking more stressed at his perceived 'weight gain' and began exercising like a maniac. He was beginning to think they'd all be subjected to another of the man's fanatical fad diets at any moment. It finally came to a head when Kelly's pants split and he took them in to be repaired - only to have the redhead's father recognize the faulty stitching as non-factory. The whole prank came out in the wash, so to speak.

Then came the gelatin powder in the shower head, the clear nail polish on the bar soap, the plastic wrap in the doorway, the crushed garlic in the air vents, the mayonnaise in the 'jelly' donuts, the food coloring in the shampoo bottle, the rubber snake in the broom closet...

But this...

He stood and watched Kelly's booted feet shuffle back and forth on the pavement as he hummed off-key under Gage's... whatever that thing was that he drove. Truck? Car? The squad had just left on a run and apparently the lineman wasted no time in grabbing the creeper and getting down to his dirty deed. Whereas he was pretty sure whatever the 'Phantom' was cooking up wouldn't be dangerous, his nerves had finally had enough. He didn't think he could stand another six months of this nonsense.

"Kelly..."

The creeper shot out from under the... vehicle. "Uh... Hi, Cap."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm... uh... Just doing a buddy a favor, Cap. Gage was saying his Rover was making a weird noise on the way to work this morning." So that's what it was. "I thought I'd look it over for 'im, you know?"

He levelled his sternest captain-look at Kelly. "I want you to give the Phantom a message from me."

The mustache curled up in a grin. "Sure, Cap. What's that?"

"The next prank results in a week's suspension." Kelly looked like he'd been bombarded with a reel line. "Got it?"

"Uh, sure, Cap." The lineman waved his pliers. "Just let me, ah, finish up what I'm doing here and then I'll let him know."

He turned on his heel and headed for the bay. As soon as he knew he'd be out of sight, he turned and went back to peer around the edge of the doorframe.

A small but growing pile of cut cable ties said his message had been delivered.


	5. E is for Ectobatic

_"Johnny!!!"_

John Gage cringed as his name echoed through the cavern, causing tiny rivulets of dust to rain down on his unprotected head. As he called back to his crewmate, he searched the ground for his helmet. "Over here, Chet!"

A momentary scrabble of dirt and Chet's grimy face appeared, hovering supernaturally over the glare of his flashlight. John winced as the beam hit him full on. "There you are!" Chet exclaimed. "Y'know I've been lookin' for ya, man?"

"Yeah, well..." John began, fastening the strap of his helmet. "You found me. Now will you quit hollerin' before you bring the whole hill down on top of us? And get that outta my eyes!"

Chet flinched. "Oh... yeah... Sorry babe." He pointed the light at the cavern floor. "D'you think there's another way outta here?"

"Probably." John let his own flashlight play over the dirt walls. "Somewhere..."

"Over there!"

Chet's sharp comment caused John to duck and turn to his friend. "Shh! I see it."

Chagrined, Chet moved up beside John and the two examined the narrow passage. After a moment he ventured "Think it goes all the way to the outside?"

"I dunno," John replied. "Maybe."

Silence fell as Chet watched John trying to see inside the opening. Uneasiness made him speak again. "Should we try it?"

John pulled back and looked at Chet, taking in the hopeful yet nervous expression on his face. "I dunno," he said again. "It's either that, or wait for them to dig us out the other way."

"That was a pretty big cave-in," Chet said, his voice quavering slightly. "It could take a while... Might even bring the rest of it down."

"Well if it didn't," John countered. "You hollerin' like a scalded cat sure would."

"I said I was sorry."

Guilt made John rethink his words. "I know, Chet," he soothed. "I'm just a little worried, okay?"

Chet looked at him in disbelief. "You? Worried?"

"Yes, Chet," John replied dryly. "Me. I'm not Superman, y'know."

"But..." Chet blinked. John always seemed to think he was invincible - and everyone knew the Gage luck got him out of more near disasters than the average man. Chet didn't expect him to leap tall buildings in a single bound but a little of that luck sure would come in handy right about now.

John had squeezed himself into the narrow opening. "C'mon, Chet," he said, his voice muffled by the dirt walls. "Let's go."

Eyeing the crevice suspiciously, Chet said "Uh... Gage? I dunno man... That's gonna be awful tight..."

John's head popped out. "D'you wanna stay here then?" he asked.

"Uh..." Chet played his light over their dirt prison.

"What'sa matter, Kelly?" John needled. "Too many jelly donuts got ya down?"

Chet bristled. "I'm as fit as a fiddle, I'll have you know!" he protested. "Why even Morton said I was well within my ideal weight range at my last physical!"

John grinned. "Well Morton's not the one tryin' to get outta here, is he?" he countered. "Now are you comin' or what?" With that, his head disappeared once more into the darkness.

Taking a deep breath, Chet eased himself into the crevice, painfully aware of how narrow it was. "Not everyone can be a beanpole like you, Gage," he groused. "I can't help it if I come from a long line of sturdy Irish stock!" John grumbled a reply, his words drowned out by the scraping of their turnout coats against the dirt. "What was that?" Chet asked.

John turned his head to face him but kept moving. "I  _said_ you make it sound like you're cattle or something." He turned back.

"Cattle," Chet repeated. "You just wait till we get outta here - I'll give you cattle."

"Quit griping, Chet," John said over his shoulder. "You're not the only one stuck down here, y'know."

The truth of Gage's statement hit Chet hard and he clamped his mouth shut. Several minutes passed as they made their way through the narrow passage and then suddenly he said "Hey - is it gettin' wider?"

"Well you're not gettin' skinnier," John replied. "Yeah... Looks like it."

Chet grinned at the realization. Their chances were improving by the minute. "Hey," he began again as a thought occurred to him. "Why don't we try reaching the Cap on the HT?"

John's forward momentum stopped once more. "Have  _you_ got the HT, Kelly? 'Cause I sure don't."

"But I thought-"

" _Roy_ had the HT," John cut in. "He was ahead of us, remember?" A somber look came over his face. "Way ahead of us, I hope," he added, resuming his sideways shuffle.

Now it was Chet's turn to feel guilty. On top of being trapped and trying to find a way out, Gage was also worried about his partner. The cave-in was massive. Chet sent up a silent prayer that DeSoto was clear when the roof fell in.

"I think we've got somethin'," John said suddenly.

"What?"

"I dunno." His crewmate's voice changed from muffled to kind of echo-y. "I think it's another chamber of some kind." He slid out of the crack and disappeared with a yelp.

"Johnny?" Chet called - not too loudly this time. "Are you alright?"

A moment of stillness, then "Yeah... I think so. Watch your step."

Chet's feet paused as he fumbled to get his flashlight out of his pocket in the narrow space. He flicked the light on and shone it ahead of him - right into Gage's eyes.

"What  _is_ it with you and that thing?" John demanded, holding a hand in front of his face. "You tryin' to  _blind_ me with it or somethin'?"

"Sorry." Chet shone the light on the floor, taking in the steep drop. "Wow - someone could break an ankle if they weren't lookin'..." His voice trailed off. "You didn't break your ankle, didja Gage?" he asked suddenly.

"No," John replied, his tone indignant. "I just tripped, is all." He picked up his helmet and scowled at it before replacing it on his head.

Chet hopped down with a grin. "Well you're not the most  _graceful_ guy on the planet, y'know," he said. "Here - lemme help you up." He stuck out his hand, which John promptly swatted away.

"I can do it," John pouted. "Just gimme a chance."

"Time's a-wastin', babe," Chet replied, his light tracking across the cavern's walls. "Aw, man..."

John climbed to his feet and dusted off his hands. "What?" he asked, looking up.

"It's a dead end!" Chet suppressed a shudder at his unintended words. "I mean-"

"Yeah, yeah. I get it," John interrupted. "Let me look." He pulled out his own light and switched it on. "There," he said suddenly.

Chet looked where the beam landed, his mouth falling open in shock. "No  _way_ we're gonna get up there, man," he protested, staring at an opening roughly ten feet above them.

"Why not?" John turned and shone his light in Chet's face, making him wince. "We'll just climb right up and-"

"Oh, sure," Chet drawled. "Just shinny right up there. No ropes, no gear - no problem!"

John swung the light down and leaned into Chet's space. "You got a better idea, Kelly?" he demanded, suddenly angry. " 'Cause if you do, I'd sure like to hear it!"

"I don't know!" Chet snapped back, his own blood boiling. "I just know we're not gonna be able to climb up there like we are!"

Silence descended as the two men faced off, breathing heavily. At last John blinked, straightened, and ran a weary hand over his face. "What are we doin'," he said at last, his voice dull. "We can't be fightin' with each other at a time like this."

Chet's own anger began to dissipate. "Yeah, you're right," he conceded. "Let's take a minute, okay?"

Nodding, John once again allowed himself to drop to the dirt floor, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his knees. As Chet arranged himself similarly, he said "It's been a long shift already."

"I bet," Chet replied, thinking of the sleep he'd been roused out of for this early call. Gage and DeSoto hadn't been so lucky - they'd responded straight from Rampart. "Did you guys get anything to eat, at least?" he asked gently.

John's stomach chose that moment to growl in displeasure. "That answer your question?" he replied with a wry smile.

Grinning back, Chet said "Yeah." Another moment passed and then he asked "So how d'you figure we get up there?"

Craning his neck to look up at the dark spot in the wall, John said "Well... I can see a coupla good handholds... If we're careful and go slow..."

"Sure wish we had the gear," Chet said in an undertone.

John decided to ignore him. "I could go up first," he went on. "And you could come up right behind me. You could watch where I put my feet... Grab where I do..."

Recognizing his friend's attempt at optimism, Chet offered "If you don't go too fast..."

"No problem," John replied. In one smooth movement he got to his feet. "Ready?" he asked, holding out his hand.

"As I'll ever be, I guess," Chet answered, allowing John to pull him up.

The two men moved to the rock face, both staring upwards. John scanned the wall with his light. "Okay," he began. "There's a good hold there, see?" He waited for Chet to reply in the affirmative and then moved the light. "And then that one - you'll have to stretch a bit."

Chet studied the wall, memorizing the locations John pointed out. When he was finished, Chet said "Alright babe. Let's do this."

John grinned at him, pocketed the flashlight and approached the wall. "It's gonna get dark in here when you put your light away," he warned. "Don't panic. If you can't find the spot, stop and tell me. I'll get my light out and show you."

"Alright." Chet didn't know how he was going to accomplish that while clinging to a rock face, but he trusted his judgment. "Just don't go takin' off anywhere without me."

"As if." John switched off his light, stuck it in his pocket and reached upward. "You ready?"

"Yeah, yeah," Chet replied in a bored tone. "Just go already, willya?" He watched as John reached for the first handhold, adjusted his grip and then brought his foot up. A moment later he was four feet off the ground.

He paused and looked down. "Comin'?" he asked.

"I'm comin'." With one last look at his precious flashlight, Chet stuck it in his pocket, lens up. He left it turned on. "Here's hopin'," he said in a whisper.

John watched him. "Hey - good idea," he said. "Now we don't have to climb in the dark."

Chet stretched for the first handhold. "Thanks."

They climbed slowly, the quiet punctuated by an occasional grunt of exertion as they pulled upward. John was two-thirds of the way up when he paused and looked back at his friend. "How're ya doin'?" he asked, a trifle breathless.

"I'm..." Chet began, puffing heavily as he stretched for another handhold and dragged himself up. "Doin'..." He lifted his foot. "...Fine."

"Attaboy Chet," John said with a grin as he resumed climbing. "I knew ya could do it."

Just then Chet's foot slipped from its precarious position, causing a miniature cascade under his boot. At the sudden change in balance his other foot slid free and he was left dangling by his fingertips. "Johnny!"

John turned quickly and looked down. "It's okay, Chet," he said, immediately sizing up the situation. "The spot for your left foot is just a little higher... a little higher..." He watched as Chet scrabbled against the rock. "Don't move around so much. Okay - now put a little more of your weight on that foot... That's right... Now lift your right foot up about eight inches... To your right a bit more... No, that's too far... Right there. You feel it?"

"Yeah," Chet panted, his forehead pressed against the rock. "I feel it - I got it. Thanks."

"No problem." John studied his friend for a minute and then turned to look up the rock face. Finally he called down. "Just stay there, alright?"

"What?"

"Just stay there," John repeated. "I got an idea."

Chet clung to the wall like a limpet, not bothering to look up. "I'm stayin'," he replied. "Just hurry up, willya?"

"Aw quit yer gripin', Chet," John said as he resumed climbing. "I'm doin' my best."

"I know." Chet pressed first one cheek, then the other against the cool stone. "It's just my hands are startin' to cramp up."

John's voice was faint. "Just take your hand off a little bit and flex your fingers," he called down. "One at a time. You'll be alright."

Chet's reply was dripping with sarcasm. "Oh I'm  _so_ glad you told me that, Gage. I was gonna let both hands go at once!"

Laughter echoed through the chamber. "You're a real cut-up, Kelly, y'know that?" he said. Suddenly something rough slapped against Chet's exposed cheek, causing him to flinch. "Grab on."

"What?" Chet looked up to see something dangling in front of his face. "What is that?" he demanded, tentatively reaching for it.

"My coat. Grab on." John waited patiently while Chet fumbled with the canvas, bracing himself for the inevitable. "Use your other hand to pull yourself up," he instructed.

Chet did as he was told, clinging on to John's coat sleeve with his left hand as he pulled himself up with his right. "I don't know why you can't just pull me up," he panted, searching for another foothold.

"Because your fine..." John grunted with exertion. "...Irish... livestock is too damn heavy, that's why!"

"That's  _stock_ , Gage," Chet snapped back. "Stock - not livestock!" He reached the lip of the opening.

John grabbed his belt and hauled him the rest of the way. "So  _you_ say," he groaned. "Feels like livestock to me."

Chet tumbled onto the dirt floor of the opening and lay still, gasping loudly. He listened to the sound of their labored breaths magnified by the rock walls. "Man," he said at last.

"You can say that again," John responded from where he lay sprawled on his back. "Chet... not to be mean or nothin'... but you  _gotta_ go on a diet."

"I'm not-” Chet began with a sputter and then quickly changed his tone. "Maybe," he conceded.

John rolled to a sitting position. He picked up his coat and searched the pockets, drawing out his flashlight. "Okay now... Let's see what we've got here," he said, switching it on.

Chet remained motionless as he watched the light travel down the walls and disappear. "Great," he grumbled. "Another tunnel."

"Better than nothin' after all that," John replied easily. "Come on. Up and at 'em, Kelly."

Chet got to his feet with a groan. "I'm gonna ask for some time off after this," he whined. "It's gonna be at  _least_ a coupla days before I can straighten my fingers again."

"Some rescue man  _you'd_ be," John said with a laugh, brushing past him. "If you can't handle a little climb like that."

"I never  _wanted_ to be a rescue man!" Chet protested as he followed along in John's wake. "That's  _your_ bag, man! Not mine!"

John didn't answer, instead moving quickly down the tunnel. "Hey," he said suddenly. "D'you see that?" He drew up short.

Unaware the other man had stopped moving, Chet slammed into his back. "Oof! What'd you stop for?" he demanded. "See what?"

"There!" John switched off the light. "See?"

Peering over his shoulder, Chet could barely discern a faint glow. "Is that what I think it is?" he asked, excitement mounting.

John grinned at him. "Let's go look!"

The two men hurried down the tunnel, their energy renewed. The further they went, the brighter the glow became until it was apparent there was light coming from somewhere up ahead.

The tunnel turned abruptly, spilling them out into another cavern - one with a broad opening to the outside. Just as Chet was about to bolt past him, John put up his arm to hold him back.

"Hey!" Chet protested. "What the-"

"Shh!" John warned, pressing a finger against his lips. He continued in a whisper. "Remember what happened last time!"

"Ohh..." Chet nodded. "I gotcha. No problem babe," he murmured back.

They started moving again, placing their feet cautiously as they fought against the urge to run out into the sunlight. The going was agonizingly slow as the smell of fresh air and grass tormented them but neither wanted to risk another cave-in.

As they emerged blinking into the early morning sunshine, both men broke out into wide grins. John threw an arm over Chet's shoulder and laughed. "We made it, Chet!" he exclaimed, tipping his helmet back on his head.

"We sure did, Johnny my boy," Chet replied, wrapping an arm around his friend's waist. "Thanks!"

"You're welcome, Chester B," John responded. They stood for a moment, revelling in the sunlight, and then both let their arms drop. "Well c'mon," John said finally. "Let's go find the guys and let 'em know we're alright."

Chet nodded happily and fell in behind as John led the way back to the other side of the hill.


	6. F is for Fuliginous

"Hey... Mike?" 

Mike Stoker, engineer extraordinaire, sat on the couch reading the latest edition of Popular Electronics. He didn't look up at his crewmate's inquiry. "Yes, John?" 

John Gage stood just inside the doorway, one hand on his hip and the other ruffling through his hair - a nervous action, if there ever was one. "Uh... We- I mean, _I_ was wondering..." 

Slowly lifting his gaze from the magazine, Mike cocked one eyebrow and waited for the other shoe to drop. He'd bet a dollar the other guys put Gage up to... whatever this was. 

"That is... I mean... Look, I can see you're busy..." 

Mike lowered the magazine to his lap, both eyebrows raised now. Whatever it was that Gage _wasn't_ asking was apparently something he wasn't sure was going to offend. Mike struggled to keep his expression impassive. "Not really," he said quietly. "Just reading." 

"What'cha reading?" John asked suddenly, taking a step forward to see. Just as quickly he waved his hands in dismissal. "Never mind. Look, Mike..." 

"Yes, John?" Mike repeated. 

Gage paced for a moment, then grabbed one of the armchairs situated in front of the television set and pulled it over. He dropped into the seat and held up a finger. "I've got a question I have- _want_ to ask you," he began. "And you can't interrupt because then I'll lose my train of thought." He paused. Mike watched him expectantly. "Okay?" 

"Okay." 

"Alright." John rubbed the palms of his hands together. "Now where was I?" he muttered. "Oh yeah." In a louder voice he went on "So the thing is, see, is that the guys and I-" 

The sound of the tones dropping halted him in mid-sentence. John slapped the arm of the chair in frustration and leapt to his feet, racing for the bay with Mike close behind. 

As Roy passed over the slip of paper handed to him by Captain Stanley, he asked "Well?" 

"I'm tellin' ya, Roy. That guy is harder to get an answer out of than anyone I've ever met!" 

Roy shook his head as they pulled out into the street, lights and siren blaring. 

Behind them in the passenger seat of the huge engine, Captain Stanley looked at his second-in-command while tightening the strap of his helmet. "What did Gage want?" 

Mike cocked his head to one side, his version of a shrug while driving. 

In the jump seat behind them, Chet gave Marco a knowing look. "Told ya," he smirked. 

"No, Kelly," Marco replied. " _I_ told _you._ " 

Hank Stanley rubbed his aching forehead. If he ever understood these guys, it'd be a miracle.


	7. G is for Growlery

Roy stood still and inhaled deeply. The scent of rich earth and pine trees assailed his senses. Dappled sunlight reached down through the scant overhead canopy, warming his skin. Far off he could hear the cry of an eagle as it soared on high, mingled with the closer sound of wildlife native to the forest. He looked to the small clearing that stretched out toward a small cliff, open to the spectacular view of the nearby mountains. 

He sighed lightly as his gaze dropped to the lone figure seated in the clearing, his legs folded underneath him, face turned to the sky. Though peppered with grey now, he would recognize that thick, enviable dark head of hair anywhere. Roy quietly moved to a spot just behind his friend and lowered himself to the ground. 

They stayed that way for many minutes. Roy didn't check his watch, not caring how long it took before his oldest friend acknowledged his presence - or, indeed, if he ever did. Roy knew he knew he was there and that was enough. 

The sun had begun its descent, the warmth fading just enough to make Roy appreciate his forethought in bringing a light jacket, before his friend finally spoke. "She told me to stay away," he said in a voice barely above a whisper. Roy waited, knowing his response wasn't needed yet. After another long pause, he went on "She said I had no right to be there." 

The lean frame shifted then, knees drawing up and long arms wrapping around them. It wasn't a relaxed pose, in Roy's mind. It seemed more defensive - injured. He chose then to change his own position, stretching limbs he hadn't realized had gone to sleep. Still he waited. 

"It's not like I didn't try, y'know?" the soft voice continued. "I really did. I wanted to be more of a part-" His voice broke. He cleared his throat. "I wanted us to be a family. But she didn't want that." His tone turned bitter at the end, stronger. "All these years, I kept trying to be the responsible one, to be there if I was needed, to make sure they didn't want for anything..." 

Roy leaned back against a large boulder, settling in for the duration. Despite his discomfort, he wasn't going to go anywhere until he knew his friend was going to be okay. That he was on his way to healing. If it took all night... Well... if that's what it took... So be it. 

Shadows grew around them. The sun was setting now and birdsong was fading into the cozy thrumming of crickets and katydids. They almost masked the sound of a faint sigh. "No matter what I did - or didn't do, if that's what she wanted - it was never right. It was never enough." 

Plucking a blade of grass, Roy twirled it idly between his fingers. He had his own opinion on the relationship that his friend had worked so hard to nurture. Now was not the time for his thoughts, though. This wasn't about him. He kept waiting. 

Eventually the knees dropped, the thin frame slumped in defeat. "It was never enough," he repeated, his voice breathy with pain. The shoulders began to shake. Roy moved closer, placing a hand first on the shoulder nearest to him, then the one further away, drawing the trembling form in. These weren't the loud, heartbreaking sobs of Hollywood drama or dime-store novels. Roy felt it would be easier if they were. Instead they were the soundless, breathless tears so heavy with agony that mere air couldn't support them. They were much, much worse. 

Roy stared out at the darkening landscape, concern furrowing his brow. The relationship as he knew it was doomed from the start. Neither of them shared anything in common beyond physical chemistry. It had been the cause of more than one warning that had slipped past his lips. Instead of being taken in the spirit that Roy had intended, though, the cautionary words had only served to drive a colossal wedge in their friendship. 

It wasn't until the inevitable physics of two identical personalities blown apart - not unlike two magnets being forced together at the same polarity - that Roy had stepped back into the wreckage that remained of his friend's life and helped to piece it back together. Just like he was trying to do now. Unfortunately, this time he wasn't sure if his friend could be mended. 

Rubbing circles on the denim-clad shoulders, Roy noticed for the first time that the painful silence had given way to proper tears. Still quiet, to be sure, but at least now the man was breathing regularly. He drew a bony arm across his lap, overtly bringing his friend closer but surreptitiously checking pulse rate. Satisfied, Roy continued his ministrations. 

Several long minutes later the man straightened, not bothering to wipe the moisture from his face. The sun had disappeared completely now, leaving the clearing in inky darkness save for the soft starlight. Roy was only mildly concerned. The path was easy to follow in the daytime. He figured it wouldn't be much harder once the moon came up. 

As though the darkness gave its blessing, words began to pour from the shadowy figure, softly at first but growing in intensity. "The picnic wasn't the first time, you know." Roy immediately remembered a Fourth of July celebration hosted by the fire department several years earlier. "It wasn't the first time I caught her practically throwing herself at someone else. 

Every time it was the same. I'd catch her at it, confront her, and she'd laugh it off. Say I was making a big deal out of nothing. She seemed to... I don't know... Think it was a _game_ or something. Didn't care how much it hurt me. Didn't care how much it embarrassed me. 'You're just jealous', she'd tell me. 'You're overreacting'. She'd keep pushing and pushing and _pushing_. Trying to find out how far she could take it, I guess. We'd fight - oh Lord how we'd fight - and she'd accuse me of trying to 'pull rank' on her. Like she was a boot or something. Thing was..." Roy looked up when the voice trailed off. After a moment the monologue went on. "Thing was, once we'd had our screaming match, it was like someone flipped a switch. The next day everything would be back to normal. She'd be just as kind and affectionate as the day I met her." He turned to look at Roy for the first time. "I know you didn't get it - I didn't really get it either - but when things were good... The love we had for each other wasn't like you and Joanne but it was _there,_ Roy. It was _there_ and it was _strong._ " 

Roy nodded once, not surprised at the conviction in his friend's voice. He'd witnessed their good times and had to concede the point. It was a strange, destructive relationship but there _was_ love in it. To Roy, however, it wasn't worth the rest. The gaunt wrist he'd checked was testament to that. The knowledge that the emotional rollercoaster his friend had been on had shaved years off his life enraged Roy. Not normally a violent man, he'd thought more than once about the satisfaction he'd feel if he could just take the woman by the shoulders and shake her. Hers was one of the most insidious forms of abuse and he'd been helpless to stop it. 

The quiet voice broke into his thoughts. "It was after one of those fights - our biggest yet, in fact - that Mattie was conceived. I knew when exactly. She flirted outrageously but she never slept with another man. I'm sure of that. So when she told me she was pregnant and how far... I knew." 

Roy studied the profile before him, limned in starlight. Shaggy hair still too unruly to be strictly regulation - although it was a lot shorter these days. Broad forehead sloping down to expressive brows. Dark eyes glittering in the darkness... But it was the hollows under the cheekbones that drew Roy's own brows down. Too much weight had been lost these past months. Too much worry and stress - even for a man in their line of work - had taken a severe toll. He wondered if anything would bring it back. 

"I wanted to get married but she refused. Said she wasn't going to let herself be trapped just because I'd gotten her pregnant. It didn't stop her from using the baby against me, though. It was like she had a new weapon. Every time she wanted something I didn't give her, she'd tell me to think of the _baby._ When that didn't work, she'd threaten to take off - go somewhere I'd never find them. I couldn't handle that. I'd cave every time." He rubbed his forehead fiercely, as though banishing a growing headache. "By the time Mattie finally arrived she had me jumping through so many hoops I don't think I ever touched ground." 

As if on cue, both men shifted on the hard ground. The warmth felt earlier was escaping the packed dirt rapidly, leaving a chill behind. Roy moved back to his previous position against the rock. "She kicked me out then," he continued in a low voice. "Told me she couldn't live with me and the baby both - that it was me or him. She'd let me see him whenever I wanted but I wasn't allowed to live with them." A long pause followed. "My work schedule... I could never raise a baby. I'm good with kids, Roy. You know that. But a baby? I didn't know the first thing about it. I thought he'd be better off with his mother. So I left." 

Roy remembered those days. Long nights sitting in his living room on the phone - or sitting, like now, silently listening to his friend unburden his soul. Helping him pick up the pieces. Watching as repeated double shifts took their toll on a man trying to support two households. He was grateful for the blanket of night that hid his involuntary shudder at those dark memories. 

"I gave them everything I had... just so I could _earn_ the right to see my son. When she told me she was seeing someone - a guy who would look after them - I didn't know how to feel. On the one hand I was relieved that the financial burden would be taken from me, but on the other I couldn't help but worry that Mattie would be, too. 

When I finally met this guy - Neil - I knew there was something off about him. I just couldn't put my finger on it. She told me it was jealousy. That I couldn't handle the thought of someone taking my place. She couldn't have been more wrong. I was glad. If she had someone else that meant she couldn't toy with me anymore. No... It was something else. Something about him just set my teeth on edge. If only I'd paid more attention-" 

Roy sat upright. Those two words - _if only_ \- were the ones he'd been waiting for. The ones he'd been dreading to hear. It was time to say something. 

"Stop it, John." 

Lean features turned to him in the moonlight, startled by his hard tone. Roy shook his head. "Do _not_ go second-guessing yourself. What happened was _not_ your fault. There's no way you could've predicted this." 

"But I-" 

"No," Roy repeated firmly. "No buts. No ifs. The only person who really knew what was going on did nothing to about it. You had no way - _no way_ \- of knowing what was going to happen. Everyone who knew them was shocked by this. They were the all-American couple. Perfect home, perfect family background... _No one knew,_ _John."_  

Silence fell. Even the insects ceased their nocturnal symphony at Roy's vehement outburst. Tentatively at first, the whirring and chirping resumed although it seemed further away now. Almost as if the performers were afraid of getting too close. 

Finally, in a small voice, Johnny moaned "My boy's gone, Roy" and burst into tears. 

Roy shifted onto his knees and crawled over to where his oldest friend huddled, cowed by misery. _These_ were the cleansing tears, the ones that would wash the soul and eventually mend the shattered heart. Pulling him into his arms, Roy cradled Johnny, stroking his dark head as gut-wrenching sobs tore from his throat. He ignored the tears that tracked steadily down his own face. 

They stayed in that position for what seemed like hours, Roy alternately caressing Johnny's hair and rocking him tenderly in the timeless manner of a father consoling a child. Eventually the sorrow ran its course and John straightened, wiping tiredly at his face. "I'm sorry," he whispered. 

"Don't be sorry," Roy said softly. "Don't ever be sorry for needing me, Johnny. It's what I'm here for and I've never minded." 

"Okay." 

Roy carefully climbed to his feet, mindful of his numbed limbs, and extended his hand. "Come on," he said. "Let's go before you fall asleep." 

"Where are we going?" Johnny took the proffered hand and stood, wavering slightly with fatigue. 

"You're coming with me. Joanne's got the guest room ready," Roy replied. "You're going to eat and then you're going to bed. We can pick up your car tomorrow." _And go see Mattie,_ he added silently. 

Johnny shook his head, still stubborn after all these years. "I should just go back to my place. No need to go to any trouble." 

Roy turned, grabbing him firmly by the shoulders. "You're not any trouble, John. And you're _not_ going back to an empty apartment." He sighed, letting his hands drop. "We'll leave you alone, if that's what you need, but you shouldn't _be_ alone, alright?" At his friend's nod he said "Okay then. Let's go." 

As they started down the path that would take them back to their vehicles, Roy glanced over his shoulder. The clearing looked dreamlike in the scattered moonlight. The perfect place for one to bare their soul, secure in the knowledge that their secrets would be protected by some otherworldly influence. 

Smiling gently, Roy placed his hand on Johnny's back and guided him home.


	8. H is for Hariolate

Joanne DeSoto ducked between the tent flaps, giggling. Roy gave her a puzzled look as she wrapped her arms around his waist and began to lead him away. 

"What's so funny?" he asked. "What did she say?" 

Joanne grinned up at him. "I'm going to meet a tall, dark, handsome man," she confessed. "He's going to sweep me off to some tropical paradise where we're going to have a dozen kids!" 

"Those fortune tellers are a bunch of bunk," Roy scoffed, resting his arm on his wife's shoulder. "Coming Johnny?" 

Johnny popped the last of his cotton candy in his mouth. "Shure fing 'Oy," he responded around a mouthful of goo. "Jus le' meh fro dis ow..." 

Both Roy and Joanne laughed at their friend's attempt at candy-impaired speech as they walked away, leaving John to find a garbage receptacle on his own. 

The three adults had been enjoying a welcome kid-free day at the amusement park, thanks to an offer by Joanne's parents to take the children for the weekend and Johnny's indomitable imagination. He'd stopped by their house in an attempt to alleviate his own boredom and talked the other two into trying out the amusement park on their own. Roy and Joanne had already admitted to their friend that it was a great idea. 

As the couple wandered off, Johnny searched around and finally located a garbage bin. He tossed in the paper cone, wiped his fingers off on his jeans and looked around. 

Suddenly the cloth panels at the rear of the fortune teller tent parted and a woman stepped out. She was dressed in a gypsy costume and Johnny figured she was the fortune teller Joanne referred to. He watched as she moved to the far corner of the tent and lit up a cigarette. 

Johnny pulled a face in disgust and turned to head off the way Roy and Joanne had gone. His movement caught the woman's attention and she looked over at him, letting out a gasp. 

Johnny hesitated, glancing around to see what had startled her. When he turned back, she had thrown away the cigarette and hurried over to his side. "You!" she exclaimed. 

"Me?" 

"I see you!" 

Johnny smiled nervously. "Yeah, well... I see you too," he responded. 

The woman shook her head, causing the medallions on her headscarf to jangle. "I see you," she repeated. "You're in danger!" 

Taking a half step back, Johnny said "Ookay..." 

"I see flames!" she persisted, clutching his sleeve. "You're surrounded by fire!" 

"Well, I-" 

"Beware the serpent!" 

Johnny laughed. "Beware the serpent? Lady, you're a little late on that one." 

"Do not laugh!" she snapped. "You must heed me! You must beware the serpent!" 

"Okay, okay," Johnny soothed, gently detaching her hands from his arm. He took another step back. "I get it - beware the serpent - gotcha. I really gotta get going..." He began walking away slowly, keeping an eye on the woman. 

She didn't follow him. "Heed my warning!" She called out, wagging a finger at him. "The serpent!" 

"I got it," Johnny agreed, picking up his pace. "The serpent. Thanks." He turned and hurried down the walkway at a speed just below running, glancing back all the while. 

It was one of those glances that caused him to collide with Roy. "Whoa, partner," Roy said. "What's the hurry? Where have you been?" 

"That woman's crazy, Roy," Johnny said, a trifle breathlessly. 

"What woman?" 

"The gypsy," John replied. He waved a hand in the air as he searched for the right words. "The - the... fortune teller. You know, the one Joanne went to that said she was gonna leave you for some other guy?" 

Roy laughed. "It's all a gimmick, Junior. None of that stuff is real. Why? What did she say to you?" 

"She said she saw me surrounded by flames," Johnny said. Joanne walked up and he directed his attention to her. "She told me to beware the serpent." 

"Who told you?" Joanne asked. 

Roy looked at her. "Johnny was talking to the fortune teller." 

Joanne chided "Johnny, you know those people don't know what they're talking about. It's all an act." 

"I know, but-" 

"She probably just dreamed it all up on the spot," Joanne went on. "Just some general things she said to grab your attention." 

Johnny shook his head. "Well, she got it alright." 

Roy put in "If you'd stuck around long enough, she would've given the next part of the con to reel you in and part with your money." 

"You didn't pay her, did you Johnny?" Joanne asked. 

" _No_ ," John replied indignantly. "I wasn't even talking to her! She came out of the tent and-" 

"Well there you are then," Joanne interrupted. "She was just pitching her spiel to you." 

Johnny scratched his head. "I dunno..." 

"Come on, Junior," Roy said, slinging an arm over his shoulders. "Joanne and I have been waiting for you so we can go on the rollercoaster." 

Letting himself be steered toward the ride, John looked back over his shoulder for the gypsy woman but thankfully she was out of sight. He shook his head, determined to put the incident behind him and enjoy the rest of the day.

 

***

 

Roy wrenched open the door on the squad, reaching in for their gear. He passed John his coat while he shrugged into his own and then pulled out their breathing equipment. 

"Gage! DeSoto!" 

The two men turned, not pausing in their movements as their captain hurried over. "Word is there's no one on site," Captain Stanley said without preamble. "You two will be on the lines with Chet and Marco." 

"Do we know what's in there, Cap?" Roy asked, nodding over his shoulder at the smouldering building. 

"Not yet," Hank replied. "So far all we've got is that it's currently being used as some kind of storage facility - and that it's mostly full." 

John looked at the sprawling structure, noting the smoke curling out of the open bay doors. "Great," he drawled. "That's gotta be at least ten thousand square feet." 

"Twelve, Gage," his captain said dryly. "The security guard says he's pretty sure most of the smoke is coming from the office area on the northwest corner." 

"So we start there?" Roy asked, slinging his air mask around his neck and replacing his helmet. 

Hank nodded. "You go with Chet," he told Roy. "And Gage - you go with Marco." 

The two men ran to join their crewmates on the hoses. Together the teams made their way through a bay door and into the darkness of the warehouse. 

Johnny let Marco lead with the heavy nozzle while he followed a few paces behind, his arms laden with coils of discharged hose. He let the hose play out as they went, grateful that the line wasn't yet filled with water. 

They'd been moving forward for almost five minutes when the inky blackness was suddenly split by tongues of flame. In the flickering light, John could see what looked like the windowed walls of the office area. He brought the handy-talkie up and shouted to be heard through his air mask "Engine 51, this is Gage. Working fire confirmed at northwest corner. Charge the line." 

A moment later the section of hose he was holding suddenly inflated and became rigid. Marco pointed the nozzle at the flames and opened the valve. 

Through the combined roar of fire and water, John thought he heard the handy-talkie go off again and brought it up to his ear. 

_"...We've got fire on the north side,"_ Roy was saying. _"Burning fast and hot - northeast corner, too. We're not gonna be able to contain this."_  

_"Hang in there,_ _Roy_ _,"_ Captain Stanley's voice responded. _"We've got another line coming in. Any idea what we're dealing with in there?"_  

_"Negative,"_ Roy replied. _"There's tons of boxes but none of them are in English."_  

Marco finished dousing the office area and began heading to the right, directing the spray in front of them. Johnny yelled in his ear "North side and gaining!" Marco nodded and pressed on. 

As they moved forward, Johnny glanced at the boxes stacked around them. Each was marked with what looked like Chinese symbols encircled by a stylized dragon figure. 

"Beware the serpent..." John muttered to himself. He reached out and tapped Marco on the shoulder. When the lineman stopped, John let go of the hose and pulled down one of the boxes. He ripped it open, dug inside and pulled out a long, slender tube with a pointed cap on one end and a wick on the other. "Fireworks!" he exclaimed, showing it to Marco. "The place is loaded with fireworks!" 

_"_ _Madre de Dios_ _!"_ Marco cursed. "This place is a time bomb!" 

Johnny dropped the pyrotechnic back in the box and brought up his radio. "Cap - this is Gage. This place is filled with fireworks!" 

A moment of silence passed and then Captain Stanley commanded _"All teams pull out now. Repeat... All teams pull out now. The building is full of explosive materials."_  

Johnny put the handy-talkie in his pocket, picked up the hose and said "Let's get out of here, Marco!" The two men began hurrying back the way they'd come, hindered by the bulky line. 

Halfway to the entrance, John heard Marco yell. He turned back to see the lineman fighting to free a section of hose that had gotten wedged against a stack of boxes. "Leave it!" John said, dropping the line he was carrying. "We gotta get out of here!" 

"It's almost out," Marco called back. "The line's discharged!" 

John muttered a curse about stubborn hose jockeys and hurried to Marco's side. Together they managed to free the stuck hose in short order. "Now go!" John said, giving Marco a push. "If it gets stuck again, just drop it!" Marco nodded and began to run, following the path of tubing they'd laid on their way in with Johnny close on his heels. 

He'd just made out the ghostly outline of the bay door against the ever-thickening smoke when a coil of the partly discharged hose twisted back on itself, looping up in front of his right boot and sending him crashing to the floor. Johnny gasped as his knee hit concrete and pain exploded up his leg, momentarily blinding him. 

Marco, sensing tension on the hose, turned back in time to see John go down. He let the nozzle drop as he hurried back to his side. "Can you walk?" he shouted, helping him to his feet. 

Johnny drew in a deep breath and touched his foot to the floor. Pain shot through his leg, bringing tears to his eyes. He shook his head. Marco slung John's arm over his shoulder and steered him toward the door. 

Just then John felt a change in the air. He glanced back over his shoulder into the darkness, noting how everything seemed to pause for a split second. He yanked his arm back and gave Marco a shove. "Run!" 

Suddenly the air was rent by a deafening blast. The resulting wave of energy picked the two men up and threw them through the bay door, throwing them to the ground as a massive ball of flame burst through the opening. Both Marco and John covered their heads with their arms as heat licked at their bodies, followed almost immediately by the shock of cool water. 

Once the heat of the fire pulled back into the building, the cooling spray stopped and John felt someone drop down beside him. "Are you okay?" Roy asked through the ringing in his ears. "Are you hurt anywhere?" 

" 'M alright," Johnny mumbled. He tipped his helmet off with one hand and pulled off the mask with the other. "Gimme a minute." 

Roy turned to Marco a few feet away. "Marco?" he asked as he set up the biophone and pulled out his BP cuff and stethoscope. "You hurt anywhere?" 

The lineman pulled off his helmet and mask as well. "Church bells," he replied. "I hear church bells." 

Johnny grinned despite the returning pain in his leg. "Only you would hear church bells, Marco," he grumbled good-naturedly. "Everyone else doesn't get a melody." 

"That's what you get for being a heathen, _amigo_ ," Marco quipped. 

"Are you two alright?" Captain Stanley demanded from above them. 

"Angels," Johnny replied with a giggle. 

Roy shook his head. "I think Johnny's had his brains scrambled a bit, Cap." 

Chet walked up in time to hear Roy's comment. "So he's normal then," the Irishman teased. 

"Kelly, make yourself useful and get on a line," commanded the captain. He turned back to Roy. "They alright?" 

"I'm fine," Marco said, pushing himself upright. "My ears are ringing but that's about it. Johnny hurt his leg." 

"Johnny?" Roy asked, turning to his partner. "Is that right?" 

Under his breath John muttered "Fink." Louder he added "I think I banged up my knee a bit, that's all." 

Captain Stanley cut in. "Lopez... Squad sixteen is set up over by the engine. If you can walk, head over there and have them check you out." 

"Will do, Cap," Marco said, getting to his feet. "On the line after?" 

Hank looked at Roy who shook his head. "No," the captain replied. "You'll be going in with Gage anyway, I just want them to take a look while you're here." To Roy, he said "Make sure he gets checked out at Rampart, alright?" 

"Sure," Roy answered. Turning to Johnny, he said "Lie down and let me take a look at you." 

"I wasn't goin' anywhere," John grumbled. He quietly submitted to Roy helping him out of his coat and taking his vitals. "Well?" 

Roy removed the stethoscope from his ears. "You've been better." He gestured to John's leg. "What happened there?" 

"Tripped on the hose," John replied shortly. "Went down kinda hard." 

"They'll want a picture of that," Roy predicted, picking up the handset of the biophone. "Anything else I should know about?" 

Johnny closed his eyes. "Dizziness." 

"You've probably got a concussion." 

"Probably."

 

***

 

"You've got a concussion," Doctor Brackett announced as he concluded his examination. 

"Hooray," John replied in a bored tone. "Tell me something I _don't_ know." 

The doctor frowned. "Alright," he said. "We'll have to wait for the films to come back to confirm it but I'm pretty sure you cracked your patella." 

"That's great," Roy put in from where he stood by the door. "Isn't it?" 

Brackett glanced at him and nodded. "It's better than a break, which is what I was concerned about." He looked at John. "It means crutches and a brace but no surgery." 

John sighed. "Well that's good news at least," he replied. "Do I get to go home?" 

"Tomorrow." The doctor picked up his clipboard and made a notation. "For tonight I want to keep an eye on you." 

"I promise I'll behave." 

Brackett smiled. "I'm sure the nursing staff will be relieved to hear it." He walked to the door. "I'm going to see if those films came back yet," he added as he left. 

John looked at Roy. "How's Marco?" he asked. 

"Doctor Early says he's fine," Roy replied. "Not even a scratch." 

"Well that's something." Silence fell between the two men. Suddenly John said "Beware the serpent." 

Roy shifted uneasily. "You noticed that too, huh?" 

Johnny nodded. "I don't think it was the boxes, though," he said. 

"No?" 

"I've been thinking..." John's eyes narrowed as he recalled the events in the warehouse. "We were almost clear when those fireworks finally went off," he mused. "If it weren't for me tripping over the line..." 

Roy considered this. "You would've been well clear before the blast." 

"And the hose was twisted all over the floor..." John looked to his friend to gauge his reaction. 

His expression clearing, Roy said "Like a snake!" 

"Beware the serpent," John repeated. 

"Huh." Roy looked thoughtful. "Guess there _was_ something to that gypsy's bunk after all." 

"Guess there was." John waited, watching his partner. 

Suddenly Roy's brow furrowed. "Guess so," he said slowly. "I think I'll go give Joanne a call. She'll want to know how you're doing." He pulled open the door and went out. 

John slid one hand behind his aching head and grinned. "Uh huh. You do that."


	9. I is for Impavid

The storm howled around the gathered figures as they huddled together, collars turned up against the driving rain. Even the light cast by two sets of headlamps wasn't enough to repel the inky blackness that enveloped them. Only the occasional flash of lightning was enough to push back the dark but it wasn't welcome. The chaotic bursts of light temporarily blinded, making their task even more perilous. 

One by one, each form broke away from the group with a nod, supposedly to follow instructions issued within the crash of the gale and swept away by the angry downpour. They gathered equipment, played out lines and checked fastenings before congregating at the precipice of night. 

Two shapes split from the others and resolutely stepped over the edge, their silhouettes disappearing immediately while the rest stood watch. The ropes quivered with tension as they descended into the gloom. Those who remained became still as they waited, impervious to the discomfort of wind and rain. 

Several minutes passed before one raised a boxlike object to his ear. A moment later, activity resumed as new lines were secured and more equipment was lowered over the edge. As quickly as it started, all movement stopped as they returned to waiting. 

The powerful gusts of wind rocked the larger of the two vehicles, sawing the lines against the edge of the cliff. Two men immediately crouched to check for wear and then went back to their former positions. Behind them the sound of displaced earth was lost in the noise of the downpour. It took one of them briefly losing his footing before the new danger was recognized. Another controlled outbreak of movement ensued as they chocked wheels and secured their positions. 

Seconds ticked by with rising apprehension and then the lines began to vibrate again. Two more headlights were added by the arrival of an ambulance just in time to spotlight the reappearance of the two climbers supporting a third. Equipment was hauled up and the figures spread out, each tending to their particular task. 

The new man was quickly loaded into the ambulance and driven away, leaving the rest to gather rope and stow cases. The wind picked up momentum as they shovelled mud from tires, backing the remaining vehicles from the danger zone. At last the all-clear was given and they piled into their seats for the trip home. 

Halfway down the mountain, another command for assistance was issued. Lights and siren came on in defiance of the storm as they headed, undaunted, to face their new challenge. 


	10. J is for Jugate

"Aaaand... _Action!_ " 

"Wha- Chet, what the heck are you doin'?" 

"C'mon Gage... What's it look like I'm doin'? I'm makin' a movie." 

"Well don't. Point that thing at someone else, willya?" 

"What are you gettin' all sore about? Don't you wanna be famous?" 

"Johnny's right, Chet. You shouldn't be filming people without their permission. Especially not in the locker room." 

"Roy-" 

"Hey... That's right _amigo_. When they wanted to take pictures at my niece's softball game last month, my sister had to sign a paper saying she was alright with the school showing them to the public." 

"Look... guys... All I want to do is shoot a short film about a day in the life of a firefighter, alright?" 

"It's also against department regulations, Chet. You have to get approval from headquarters first." 

"Stoker, you're beginning to sound like Brice. Look fellas... I just want to make a little film. What's the harm in that?" 

"What if we don't _want_ to be in your stupid film? Huh? Didja ever think about that?" 

"Gage, you're a real wet blanket, y'know that?" 

"Good. Where'd you get that thing, anyway?" 

"My mom gave it to me for my birthday last year. Listen - there's guys out there making bags of money having actors play cops doing calls just like real life. Why can't we make a little extra dough with real-life firemen going on real calls, huh?" 

"Because it's against reg-" 

"Right. I heard you the first time, Mike. So I get headquarters to approve it. No sweat." 

"What's this 'we' business?" 

"Ah... That's the beauty of it, babe. If you guys all agree to be in my film, you'll each get a cut of the profit." 

"What kind of cut are we talkin' about here?" 

"Calm down, Johnny-boy. You'll get your fair share. Say... five percent?" 

"Five percent! You're cheap, Kelly. Y'know that? Count me out." 

"Hey... If we get a real blockbuster, five percent is a lotta money!" 

"Why not twenty percent each - split it evenly among the five of us?" 

"Now that wouldn't be fair, Marco. It's my camera. I have to do the filming and directing-" 

"Directing?" 

"...And I also have to supply the film and the batteries. Then there's the editing and marketing and-" 

"What did Captain Stanley say about all this?" 

"Ah... well..." 

"Not to mention the approval you'd have to get from the administration at Rampart, in case you do any filming there... Then there's the agreements you'd have to get from each member of the public you film. That's a lot of work, Chet." 

"DeSoto - you and Stoker make a good team. You're _both_ wet blankets." 

"I'm just saying-" 

"Yeah, yeah. I know what you're saying. I don't see why you guys have to kick up such a fuss about a little thing like this." 

"Listen, Chet. If it _is_ just "a little thing', what makes you think you'll make any money at it?" 

"I _told_ you - there's guys out there having actors pose as cops-" 

"Go film some real cops then." 

"It's already being done. Don't you see? There aren't any shows out there about _firemen_." 

"Chet - _nobody_ is gonna want to watch a show about firemen. Get real, willya?" 

"If they'll watch a show about cops, they'll watch a show about firemen." 

" _Pretend_ cops, Chet. You said it yourself: they're only actors." 

"They act out real cases, Gage." 

"That doesn't make them cops, Chet - they're _still_ actors." 

"Okay, okay... I get it, alright? Nobody's gonna want to see a movie with real firemen doing real firefighting. Fine. Forget I even asked." 

"Now there's no point in getting sore-" 

"So who's sore? I said I'm not making a movie about firemen and I won't." 

"Chet..." 

"Yeah, Marco?" 

"Roll call in two minutes... Kelly, what is that?" 

"Uh... It's a movie camera my mom gave me last year for my birthday, Cap." 

"And just what do you plan on doing with it?" 

"Well, I... Say, Cap - do you think it'd be alright if I shot a few minutes of, say, a fire or something? I've been dying to try this out-" 

**_"Chet!"_ **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first attempt at dialogue-only writing. It's something I've always wanted to try but don't think I'll repeat. It's too difficult to indicate who's speaking.


	11. K is for Kip

Doctor Kelly Brackett strode out of his office and around the corner to the nurses' duty desk. Nose buried in a file, he was already at the counter and getting ready to issue a change in medication for the patient listed within when he looked up and saw there was no one there. 

"What the heck..." Kel muttered, glancing around. "Is everyone on vacation around here?" 

The corridor was deserted, as was the admitting desk and accompanying waiting area. His curiosity piqued, Kel left the file on the desk, walked to the nearest treatment room and pushed the door open. Seeing no one, he moved to the next and then the next, checking each room as he came to them. They were all empty. 

Kel stood in the middle of the passage, thinking. After a moment he strode to the duty desk again and picked up the phone. He dialled the number for the switchboard and waited but no one responded to his summons. Irritation building, Kel slammed the receiver down with a glare and turned to the small anteroom that housed the hospital's emergency base station. 

The pneumatic hinge on the glass door prevented Kel from slamming it, only adding to his frustration. As the red telephone that provided a direct line to the county fire dispatch proved out of order, he turned his attention to the expensive base radio and slammed a hand on the button. 

"This is Rampart Hospital. Do any units out there copy?" 

Silence met his request. Kel repeated it twice more to make sure and then hurried out of the room, fighting to quell his mounting anxiety. He strode quickly to the elevator and pushed the button, only to discover that the car was already on the ground floor but the doors wouldn't open. 

Kel scanned the immediate area. His gaze locked on the doors to the staff room and he hurried over only to find it, too, was empty. Biting back a growl of aggravation, he then moved to the door for the emergency stairwell - but it wouldn't budge. 

Thoroughly confused, Kel walked over to one of the benches lining the wall and lowered himself into it. His mind raced as he tried to come up with a logical reason for his current circumstance. He hadn't been in his office that long, so if there'd been an emergency evacuation of the building he was sure he would've heard it. 

Or would he? Kel got to his feet and walked to the doors for the emergency entrance bay. He placed a hand on the wood and pushed. It didn't move. Kel reached over to slap the button that would automatically open the doors and, to his relief, they swung open into the blinding daylight. 

Tension bled from his body as Kel stepped outside - only to return with a vengeance as his eyes adjusted to the light and he realized he wasn't standing in Rampart's parking lot. Instead, he seemed to be in the equipment bay of Station 51. 

He squinted against the sunlight reflected in his eyes from the broad windshield of the massive fire engine in front of him, raising a hand and stepping to one side to escape the glare. Beside it stood 51's emergency squad, equally highly-polished. 

"You'd think they had nothing to do," Kel muttered with a smirk, heading around the front of the vehicle. He ducked his head inside the open office door, disappointed - but not actually surprised - to find the room vacant. Moving at an unhurried pace, Kel then checked the dayroom, the locker room and the dorms, finally ending up back in the bay with a heavy sigh. "What is going on here?" he asked the empty air. Silence met his inquiry. Undaunted, Kel went back into the dayroom and picked up the phone, frowning when there was no dial tone. 

"The rest will be like that, too," he mused. Not one to leave out any possibilities, Kel went through the building again, this time checking each of the phones he found to see if they were working. At last he dropped onto the bumper of the squad and rested his aching head in his hands. "I must be dreaming," he said in a low tone. "That's the only reasonable explanation. Any minute now I'm going to wake up on the couch in my office." 

With a decisive nod, Kel dropped his hands and stood up. "Well then," he mused. "If I'm asleep on a couch, I'm asleep on a couch." He turned and headed for the dayroom and its comfortable leather furniture. Stretching out on the soft cushions, Kel slid a hand behind his head and closed his eyes. "I'll just go to sleep here," he predicted. "And wake up there. That's all." With a satisfied sigh he settled back and waited for the land of Nod. 

Five minutes later Kel cracked one eye open, then the other. He let out a groan as he realized his surroundings hadn't changed. Pushing himself upright, he looked to the worn ceiling tiles and shouted "What d'you _want_ from me? Why am I here?" 

Getting to his feet, Kel ran one hand through his dark hair as his thoughts whirled. If he wasn't asleep - if this wasn't a dream - then where was everyone? What happened? He became very still as he strained to hear something, anything, that would give him a clue as to what was going on. 

A faint hissing noise reached his ears and Kel moved quietly around the room, trying to find its source. As he neared the door to the bay the noise grew louder so he pushed through and stood, listening. 

It seemed to be coming from somewhere on the far side of the squad and Kel hurried around the vehicle, stopping before the compartment doors. He threw them open one by one until he located the portable O2 tank. Air was escaping rapidly through the attached mask. Kel quickly cranked the dial to stop the flow and then leaned in to examine it. Despite the amount of time it must've been leaking the gauge on the tank still read 'full'. Puzzled, Kel stood up, closed the compartment and looked around. 

The door to the dorm stood open, something Kel was sure wasn't possible. Both times when he'd gone through it before the door had swung shut behind him due to the heavy-duty closing mechanism at the top. Now, however, it was standing wide revealing the dimness within. 

"Why not," Kel said flatly, heading for the opening. He took a deep breath and stepped across the threshold, mildly pleased but not amused when the room beyond was revealed to be filled with gurneys instead of cots. Heaving a sigh, Kel slowly turned on the spot, his eyes taking in the curtains suspended from the ceiling, the white-painted walls and the lack of windows. 

Kel rubbed his eyes wearily. Without a doubt, he'd walked into the surgical intensive care unit at Rampart. His shoulders slumped with resignation as he walked down the long center aisle to the door at the far end. Although he was pretty sure it wouldn't happen, the door should open onto the sixth-floor nurses' station. Prepared to meet resistance, Kel almost fell through the passageway as the wood moved easily under his touch. 

The nurses' station was there, much to his astonishment, but was abandoned just like everywhere else. Kel automatically crossed to the desk and picked up the phone, replacing the receiver gently in its cradle when it proved silent. He scanned the rooms nearby for signs of movement, not surprised when he didn't find any. 

"What now?" he muttered to himself. Pivoting on his heel, Kel strode to the elevator and pushed the button. The steel doors slid open noiselessly, earning a grunt of surprise from the doctor. He stepped inside and turned to face the button panel. "Let's see..." 

Choosing a number at random, Kel watched as the doors slid shut and then lifted his eyes to the readout above that displayed the floor numbers. When the digits didn't change, he looked back at the panel and jabbed another button. Still the compartment didn't move. Kel began punching every circle methodically from the top down, growing more frustrated as they each lit up but didn't make the elevator respond. 

As he stabbed the button for the third floor the car lurched into movement, throwing Kel off-balance. He grabbed the railing as he wracked his brain as to what was on that level. "Just rooms," he grumbled. "Wards - nothing special." The doors slid open at his pronouncement and he stepped into the corridor. 

A quick check revealed that floor empty as well and Kel dropped into one of the chairs in the waiting area with a sigh of resignation. Although not prone to flights of fancy, he was beginning to think he'd gotten stuck in that fictional space known to television watchers everywhere as _The Twilight Zone_. 

Kel looked at his watch absently and frowned. Somehow the crystal had gotten cracked and the hands had stopped. He pulled it off, shook it and held it to his ear but it remained silent. Slumping in the chair, Kel fidgeted with the watch absently as he tried to figure out what to do next. 

Nothing came to him and Kel heaved a sigh of exasperation - only to flinch as the action caused a sharp pain in his ribs. He quickly clamped a hand over the site, resolving immediately not to do that again. It felt like a stitch in the muscle and he silently reprimanded himself for missing lunch as usual. 

Slowly Kel got to his feet and looked around. Although before this bizarre incident started he could've sworn it was mid-afternoon, a glance at the windows revealed darkness outside, the sun long gone. All the running around he'd done began to take its toll and Kel moved more slowly down the corridor as fatigue pulled at his limbs. 

As he passed one of the rooms, Kel glanced in at the empty bed and stopped, thinking. He glanced around and, seeing he was still alone, shrugged and stepped inside. The tiredness he felt was beginning to be overwhelming and he decided the empty floor would benefit from at least one occupant - for a while, anyway. Besides, it wasn't as though he could guarantee a return trip to his office if he tried. For all he knew, the elevator might open up onto the morgue and he didn't relish the thought of grabbing a nap down _there_. 

Sliding off his lab coat, Kel dropped it onto the nearby chair and sat on the edge of the bed, toeing off his shoes. He pulled off his tie, tossing it onto the coat, and lay down on the crisp sheets with a satisfied sigh. "Just for a minute..." he mumbled, closing his eyes. 

What seemed like moments later, his ears picked up the faint sound of beeping. A gentle push of air tickled his nose and he made to lift his hand to brush it away, only to have a low voice warn "Leave it alone. You still need that." 

Kel's eyes snapped open and he stared with astonishment at the amused smile of his colleague, Doctor Early. His throat suddenly dry, Kel licked his lips and whispered "Joe? What...?" 

"You've been in an accident, Kel," Joe Early replied, holding a cup of water for him to sip. "For a little while we weren't sure we'd ever see those blue eyes of yours again." 

"Accident?" Kel repeated after taking a drink. He searched his memory. "Again? I-I don't-" 

Joe set a comforting hand on his arm. "Don't worry about it," he replied. "It'll probably come back to you eventually." 

"What happened?" Kel insisted, a hiss escaping through his teeth as he tried unsuccessfully to push himself into a seated position. 

Joe quickly moved to adjust the bed. "Lie still," he said firmly. "You don't want to undo all my best work." 

Kel looked down. Instead of the clothes he was wearing when he lay down on the bed, now he was garbed in a hospital gown. "What happened?" he repeated. "How did I get here?" 

"I should've known you wouldn't let it go that easily," Joe replied with a chuckle. He pulled up a chair and sat down. "If you promise to relax, I'll tell you what I know." 

Nodding slowly, Kel settled back against the pillow, wincing at the twinge in his ribs. "I promise." 

"Right." Joe rubbed the side of his nose thoughtfully and then began "First of all, we don't know why you were where it happened - you should've been on your way home." 

"Where was I?" 

"Practically in front of station 51," Joe said, shaking his head in amazement. "As accidents go, you couldn't have picked a better spot unless you were in Rampart's parking lot." 

Kel grinned ruefully. "Hooray for me," he said, his tone flat. "Go on already." 

"Alright, alright," Joe said, waving a hand at him. "According to the accident report, you were going through an intersection - on a green light, mind you - when some guy in a transport truck blew through the red light and broadsided you." 

"My car...?" 

Joe shook his head. "Totalled - again. Your insurance company must love you." 

"Anyone else hurt?" Given the result of his previous MVA, Kel dreaded the answer. 

"The driver of the truck has a mild case of whiplash and a broken toe," Joe responded easily. "He's been treated and released already - into police custody." 

Kel blinked. "Custody?" 

Getting to his feet Joe replied "There were at least half a dozen witnesses that said you had the right-of-way, Kel. He's been charged with reckless driving and assault." He pointed a finger at Kel. "You need to get some rest," he added. 

Rubbing his forehead with one hand, Kel asked "What's the damage?" 

"To you? Or your car?" Joe asked with a smile. "The car's a lost cause but thanks to the guys at 51 - and yours truly - you're going to be just fine." 

Kel knew that was all the information he was going to get - for now. "How long have I been asleep?" he asked, sinking deeper into the pillow. 

"This time?" Joe countered. "Not long - just a nap, really. Before that you were unconscious for five days." 

"Five _days_?" Kel shot up out of bed, gasping as the twitch in his side blossomed into full-blown pain. 

"Settle down!" Joe commanded, easing Kel back onto the bed and pushing the call button. "Dammit, Kel!" The door opened and a nurse walked in, only to hurry out again as Joe demanded a hypodermic of morphine. He turned back to his colleague. "You're a fool sometimes, you know that?" he growled. "Let's see what you've done to yourself this time." 

Kel meekly submitted to the examination, only flinching once as Joe pulled away the bandage covering a section of his ribs. The older doctor made a small noise of disgust as he poked and prodded the sensitive spot. At last he replaced the dressing with a new one and pronounced Kel relatively undamaged. "But don't do that again," he warned. 

"I won't." Kel paused as a thought occurred to him. "Y'know," he began. "I had the weirdest dream..." 

"I wouldn't be surprised," Joe replied. "Once you started actually sleeping you were moving around pretty good. For a moment we thought we'd have to restrain you." 

Undeterred, Kel went on "I was in emergency but there was no one around. Nothing worked - not the phones or the radio or anything." Joe's eyebrows raised in interest. "The only way out was through the bay doors but when I went through them I wound up at station 51." 

"I suppose that makes sense," Joe said. "Given that they responded to your accident." 

"No one was there either," Kel continued. "I thought I'd fallen asleep on the couch in my office but when I tried to recreate it, it didn't work." Joe nodded. "I went into the dorm - and found myself in SICU." 

"You spent quite a few hours in there," Joe cut in. 

"Then I came out at the nurses' station and got on the elevator but the only button that worked was the third floor." Kel yawned. "I got really tired and went into one of the rooms to lie down since there was no one around." 

Joe chuckled. "Leave it to you to grab a nap only when no one will catch you at it," he said. "You're not superhuman, Kel." 

Yawning again, Kel replied "I know that. How big a dose of MS did you give me, anyway?" 

"Enough," Joe answered. "I don't want you moving around any more than necessary. You need some real rest." 

"It was really strange," Kel went on, his eyes sliding shut. "Very... lonely." 

Joe waited as his friend slipped into slumber. He checked Kel's vitals and, satisfied, let out a small sigh. "Yours is a lonely existence, my friend," he said quietly. "If you actually allowed it, those rooms and corridors would've been filled with people." Shaking his head, Joe turned and left. Tomorrow there would be proof of that, as soon as word got around that Kel was on the road to recovery.


	12. L is for Lecanoscopy

Roy DeSoto paused in the doorway of the locker room and watched, confused, as his partner stared into a sink full of water. After a minute of him not moving, Roy cleared his throat. 

"Uh, Johnny?" He waited but John Gage didn't even twitch. "Johnny?" he repeated. 

The younger man seemed to shiver and then lifted his head to gaze at his partner's reflection. "Yeah?" 

"Um..." Roy studied his face. "Everything alright?" 

John stood from where he'd been leaning with his hands against the counter. "Yeah, sure, everything's fine," he replied. "Why?" 

"It's just... You were..." Scratching his head, Roy said "Never mind. You ready to make a run for supplies?" 

"Sure, Roy, sure," Johnny replied easily. He pulled the plug in the sink and grabbed a towel to dry his hands. "Be right there." 

Roy gave him one last look and then turned to leave. Johnny tossed the towel in a laundry basket and followed him out. "Everything okay with you?" the younger man asked. 

"Oh... yeah, yeah, everything's fine with me," Roy answered as they climbed into the cab. "Why do you ask?" 

"It's just you seem sort of caught up in your thoughts or somethin'," John replied. "Sort of... not-there, y'know?" 

Roy cast him a sideways glance before turning the key. "Sure," he drawled with a hint of sarcasm. "I know exactly what you mean." 

Johnny matched his wry look with a surprised one of his own as they pulled out into traffic.

 

***

 

After they restocked their supplies and drove away from Rampart, Johnny burst out "Are you gonna tell me what's eatin' you or not?" 

Roy lifted his shoulder a little in a half-shrug. "Nothin', I guess," he replied. "It's just..." 

John waited for him to continue. When Roy stayed silent he pressed "Just?" 

Sighing, Roy gave in. "What were you doing back there?" 

"Where?" 

"In the bathroom," Roy said, his patience growing thin. "You were just standing there for the longest time, totally spaced out." 

Johnny splayed a hand across his chest. "Me? Spaced out?" 

"You!" Roy gave a firm nod. "Off in la-la land." 

"I was not-" 

"Johnny, I called your name twice." He held up two fingers. " _Twice!_ You didn't even notice!" 

Johnny's mouth set in a grim line. After a moment he said "I'll have you know, Roy, that I was perfectly aware that you were there." 

"Oh _really_ ," Roy sneered. "Then why didn't you answer me?" 

"Because I was meditating, that's why!" John snapped back. The sharp answer stunned them both into silence. John kept his gaze firmly out the windshield while Roy stole the occasional sideways glance at his partner. 

They rode for another few minutes before Roy said "I'm sorry." 

"Naw," Johnny said, flapping his hand in Roy's direction. "I'm the one who's sorry. I shouldn't have lost my temper." 

The squad rolled to a stop at a red light as the conversation waned. Finally Roy ventured "Meditating?" 

"Sure." John rubbed a hand across his chin. "It's kinda hard to explain. It helps relax me, y'know?" 

"I'll take your word for it," Roy replied in a dry tone. 

Johnny looked at him. "Tell you what - we're still on for camping this weekend, right?" 

"As far as I know." 

"Well then," Johnny said with a nod. "This weekend I'll show you how it's done." 

Roy regarded him warily. "Johnny, I don't-" 

"It'll be fine, Roy," Johnny predicted as they started moving again. "You'll see."

 

***

 

"So, um..." Roy began, scanning the ground around him. "Do I sit cross-legged, or..." 

Johnny scrambled to a seated position in the dirt. "Just sit however's most comfortable," he replied. "It doesn't really matter." 

Carefully lowering himself down, Roy copied his friend's pose. "Now what?" he asked. 

"Are you comfortable?" John countered. "You're going to be sitting that way for a while, so you've gotta be comfortable." 

"I'm comfortable," Roy agreed quickly. "What's next?" 

Johnny grinned. "Close your eyes," he replied, following his own instructions. A second later he opened one and looked at his partner. "Come on, Roy." 

Roy sighed and closed his eyes. "I feel ridiculous," he muttered. 

John rounded on his partner. "Positive thoughts!" he barked. "I _told_ you!" 

"Yeah, yeah. You told me," Roy said, keeping his eyes shut. "I'm positive I feel ridiculous," he added. 

John heaved a big sigh and slapped his hands in the dirt. "You know what," he said, starting to get up. "Just forget it, alright?" 

Roy grabbed his arm. "I'm sorry, okay?" he asked quickly. "Just... just sit down and we'll try again. Positive thoughts." 

Cutting his partner a wary look, John resettled himself and closed his eyes. "Okay," he said after a moment. "Deep, easy breaths. Clear your mind. Feel your body relax." 

Struggling against his misgivings, Roy did as he was told. He drew in a large lungful of the clean mountain air and then expelled it slowly, forcing his jaw to unclench and letting his shoulders drop. Clearing his mind was more difficult but he concentrated on the sound of the breeze blowing through the trees. After a few minutes he felt the knot of tension in his shoulders ease. 

"Okay," John's voice broke the silence. "Are you feeling relaxed now?"

"Mm hmm." 

"Alright now, open your eyes and look at the lake." Roy did as he was bidden. "Stare at the water - not hard," John warned. "Just look at the water and tell yourself 'I am at peace'." 

Roy gazed at the rippling lake surface. "Out loud?" he asked. 

"Well I usually say it in my head," Johnny replied. "But if it works better for you to say it out loud, go ahead." 

Nodding once, Roy watched the water move lazily past and thought to himself. _I am at peace... I am at peace... I am at peace..._  

The two men remained at the lake edge for almost half an hour. Finally, Johnny stirred. "That's good," he said quietly. "How're you feeling?" 

Roy gave himself a little shake. He'd almost forgotten where they were. Taking a mental inventory, he replied "Good, actually. Real good." He made to get up and let out a groan. "Except my legs went to sleep," he added. 

Johnny laughed and helped him up. "That does happen sometimes," he admitted. "It's one of the reasons I usually do this standing up." 

"The sink?" Roy asked, rubbing the pins and needles from his lower extremities. 

"Naw," John drawled. "I only use the sink when I can't get someplace like this." 

Roy carefully scrutinized his partner. "Do you need to do it often?" 

A flush crept into John's cheeks. "Not really," he confessed. "It's just... that call..." 

"Yeah," Roy said softly, remembering. "I know what you mean." 

"Look," Johnny said quickly, placing a hand on Roy's arm. "This stuff... It's kinda private, y'know?" 

Smiling, Roy placed his hand over John's. "Don't worry," he promised. "I won't breathe a word of it to anyone - especially not Chet." 

Johnny returned the grin. "Thanks, pal." 

"No, John," Roy said, slinging an arm over his friend's shoulders. "Thank _you._ Now - what're you making for lunch?"


	13. M is for Metier

"Wow... dig the awesome view!" 

Johnny leaned back in his deck chair and watched as his friend and co-worker leaned out over the balcony railing. "Thanks." 

Chet turned to face him. "You ever bring any chicks up here, Gage?" he asked. 

"Chet..." He held up a bottle. "Grab your beer and siddown, willya?" 

"No, seriously," Chet insisted as he took the drink and the only other seat. "Girls dig the killer view, man!" 

Shaking his head, Johnny took a long pull from his own bottle before replying. "Considering we just finished moving in the rest of my stuff, Kelly, I'm gonna go with a 'no'." 

"Oh - oh yeah..." Chet said thoughtfully. "Forgot about that." 

Johnny's eyebrows shot up. "You _forgot_ about it? You've been complaining about it all day!" 

Swallowing a mouthful of his brew, Chet shrugged. "I didn't mean anything by it." 

"Sure coulda fooled me." 

The two men sat in silence, enjoying the sunset. When the last sliver of gold disappeared, Chet said softly "Gee that was pretty." 

"Yep." Johnny drank the last of his beer and motioned to Chet. "Want another?" He pushed out of his chair and headed into the apartment. 

"What d'you - yeah sure - what d'you mean 'yep'?" Chet protested, waving a hand expansively. "That was Mother Nature at her finest, Gage. All you can say is 'yep'?" 

Johnny returned with two more bottles, a grin spread across his face. "Yep." 

Chet shook his head with a sigh. "You're unbelievable, that's what you are," he said, taking the proffered bottle. "A spectacle like that, seen practically unhindered from the sixth floor against a Los Angeles skyline... and all you can say is 'yep'." 

"Look, Chet..." Johnny began, lowering himself into his seat. "It's not the first time I've seen a sunset, y'know. It's a lot prettier in the San Gabriel mountains or at Big Bear." 

"Yeah, but-" 

" _And..._ " Johnny went on, undaunted. "You're forgetting I grew up on a ranch - lots of beautiful sunsets there, believe me." 

Chet huffed out a breath of exasperation and thumped back in his chair, his eyes once more on the horizon. "It's still pretty," he mumbled. 

Johnny smiled at him. "Yep." 

Letting out a groan, Chet said "Don't start _that_ again!" 

"You're too easy, Chet," Johnny said with a laugh. 

Chet turned to him suddenly, moustache working. "Listen here, Gage," he warned. "Don't go forgetting who's the pigeon around here. I'd say that makes _you_ the easy one." 

"If I ever wanted to get the upper hand on the Phantom," Johnny countered. "Believe me, I would." 

"Oh you would, would you?" 

Johnny took another drink of his beer. "Sure," he replied easily. "The Phantom isn't the only one with a few tricks up his sleeve." 

Chet smirked. "Then why don't you?" 

Setting down his bottle, Johnny sank back against the chair cushions and laced his fingers together over his stomach, stretching his legs out in front of him. "I've thought about it," he began. "But it'd kinda be like putting you in the squad and me on the hose, y'know?" 

"Huh?" 

Johnny waved his hand absently. "Everyone has a purpose, Chet. For you, it's to be as aggravating as you know how-" 

Chet sat up. "Hey!" 

"...And for me, it's to let you feel like you've gotten the best of me." 

"I _have_ gotten the best of you, Gage. Remember the flour gag? Or how about-" 

Johnny heaved a dramatic sigh. "I just do my part to make you feel important." 

"Well, that's mighty big of you, Gage," Chet drawled, settling back in his seat. "I'll remember that the next time the Phantom leaves you looking like a class-A buffoon." 

Johnny blinked. "A what?" 

"A _buffoon_ ," Chet repeated. "Haven't you ever heard the word before?" 

"Well, yeah, but-" 

Grinning, Chet cut in "A buffoon is a fool. A clown. An idiot-" 

"Now wait a second!" 

Chet laughed. " _Now_ who's easy?" 

Johnny frowned, picked up his bottle and shifted in his seat, all while casting dark looks at his crewmate. "Yeah, well, let's see who's laughing the next time you eat a little too much smoke," he intoned. 

The two men fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally Chet said "You'd be the first to jump in with the oxygen, babe." 

Not wanting to concede a point, Johnny replied "Well maybe I won't next time." 

"Yeah you will." 

"Maybe not." 

Chet grinned in the gathering darkness. He wasn't worried. "Hey - let's go get a pizza," he said suddenly. 

Pushing out of his chair, Johnny replied "As long as you don't get anything weird on it." 

"When have I ever-" 

"Anchovies," Johnny said firmly, grabbing his car keys. 

Chet pulled open the door. "I never tried 'em before!" 

Johnny slid past into the hallway. "Fish, Chet!" he said with a shudder. "Little, tiny fish! Like... like guppies or somethin'!" 

"Well how was I supposed to..." The door swung closed as their voices faded down the corridor.


	14. N is for Nychthemeron

Soon after the sun rises, loud tones ring out and six men stumble wearily from their beds to shuffle single file in search of food and that beloved elixir of energy - coffee. Some time later they're joined by their counterparts, grumbling good-naturedly at the fresh faces that enter the room, yet grateful for the respite. 

In a little while the six head for their lockers and civilian clothing, leaving the rest to chatter about their time off and current events, their vigil over for the time being. 

The new group exchange small-talk, waiting for the moment when they officially start their day. A few moments later one man stands and summons them all to the equipment bay for roll-call and inspection. Once that's complete and daily notices are read, they're then given housekeeping duties and sent on their way. 

One will mop the floors, another will change the bedding. Two will head outside to hang long, heavy sections of hose to dry. The fifth will check the refrigerator for supplies and make a list of items needed for meals while the last goes into the small office to do paperwork. 

First, however, the group splits up and they inspect their vehicles and equipment for wear and tear. Three clamber over the massive red engine while the remaining two open compartments and pull out boxes, checking for shortages. Their inspections complete, they turn their attention to the tasks assigned them. 

Not long after, a red light high on the wall flashes on and tones sound throughout the building. Before they even finish, the six are scrambling to their positions on the equipment. One remains to acknowledge the summons as the heavy overhead door rolls up, and then they're pulling into heavy morning traffic, lights on and sirens blaring. 

They weave through the lines of vehicles with precision, arriving at their destination within minutes. With practiced ease they assemble their equipment, taking only a moment to size up the situation before launching into their duties. Hoses are unfurled, valves are opened, tanks are donned and the six throw themselves into the role of fearless saviour. 

Hours pass as they execute their attack, moving seamlessly between aggressor and rescuer, until the last of the flames subside with a hiss of protest. The injured are whisked away under expert care while the rest clamber over and around debris, ferreting out the last vestiges of fire. 

At last they gather up their equipment and take their leave of the scene, weary but satisfied at their success. The heavy rig heads for home while the other detours to pick up their absent member. Once back at base they all turn back to their housekeeping chores, thankful for the routine. 

Lengths of hose are rinsed and hung from the tower while still more are carefully laid out on the bed of the rig. Air bottles are checked for level and replaced, stained uniforms are changed and the missed meal is prepared. 

Fate steps in as they sit down to eat and they are off again, this time to help some poor unfortunate soul involved in an accident on the freeway. Although the mishap is minor, the location is treacherous and the vehicles involved have littered debris throughout the lanes. The six men immediately get to work, cleaning up the fragments of vehicles and lives while simultaneously opening the way for others to proceed. 

Again they finish their task and depart, one vehicle heading home and the other in the opposite direction. Through unspoken agreement the men on the rig know their comrades will grab something else to eat, if time permits. 

The California sun has done its duty and the men take the dried hose down, swapping it out for new lengths and grateful that that on the hose bed went unused this time. At the hospital, freshly acquired supplies are replenished yet again and those two climb back into their vehicle. No sooner have they seated themselves than the tones ring out again. 

Alone this time, the smaller vehicle races to the aid of a teen who has taken a bad fall. They soothe and console both patient and friends as instructions are relayed, measures are taken and the youth is loaded into an ambulance for yet another trip back to the hospital. 

Finally together, the half-dozen men gather around as preparations are made for practicing their skills. It's not enough that they've put them to use twice already (three times for a pair of them) but their timing and prowess must be drilled until it is a finely-tuned machine. There is no room for error or hesitation in their work. 

The last meal comes without interruption, followed by time for relaxation. Experience allows for them to be on alert without tension and they sit back to enjoy the evening movie. Bowls of popcorn are passed while comments and observations are swapped. Camaraderie is a tangible mood. 

Later they begin their night time ritual, setting boots and bunker pants at the ready. They wash up, strip off their uniforms and climb into bed, fatigue slowing their movements. One by one they fall easily into sleep, senses attuned for the all-important alarm. 

The night falls into stillness as the men sleep, unbroken except for the occasional shift of a leg or turn of a shoulder. Just as it seems as though they might lie there till daybreak, the overhead lights come on and the klaxons ring out. As one, they launch themselves from their beds and pull on their gear, heading for the bay before their eyes are fully open. 

They find their way to a blaze that lights the night sky like noon. Several more vehicles join them and soon the scene is one of well-controlled chaos. Hoses snake over and under hoses, men dash to and fro, water pours on roaring flame without end. Hours pass unnoticed as the battle rages on. Positions shift in waves of manpower and finally the beast is tamed. 

Next begins the task of turning and inspecting the rubble for tokens of heat and flame. The task takes almost as long as the battle itself before they are finally satisfied that the fire is out. They methodically collect their equipment, their movements slower now that the adrenaline has worn off. One by one each man finishes his particular task and then climbs into the vehicle after his crewmate. 

Returning to base is swift at this hour. Traffic is thin as the two machines back into place in the bay, ready for the next call. Turnout coats are placed at the ready, short trips to the latrine are made and then the six fall into bed, asleep within moments. Anyone who did not know of the last few hours would not realize they'd even changed position.

 

***

 

Soon after the sun rises, loud tones ring out and six men stumble wearily from their beds to shuffle single file in search of food and that beloved elixir of energy - coffee. Some time later they're joined by their counterparts, grumbling good-naturedly at the fresh faces that enter the room, yet grateful for the respite. 

In a little while the six head for their lockers and civilian clothing, leaving the rest to chatter about their time off and current events, their vigil over for the time being.

 


	15. O is for Oxyacaesthesia

The average human being has five senses they rely on: sight, hearing, touch, taste and smell. When you enter the fire service, they teach you that to be a fireman you have to rely on a sixth sense as well - instinct. It's the niggling in the back of your mind, the uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach, the thing that makes the hair on the nape of your neck stand on end. Your sixth sense is often what saves you when fighting fires. 

Fires are hot and noisy. Dark and wet. Every fire is different and every one the same. You go in, and your senses are instantly heightened. Your eyes strain to see, your ears are attuned to every sound, your skin tingles in anticipation of any change in temperature. Despite the mask on your face, your taste buds are on alert for subtle differences in the air you breathe and your nose waits to detect any odour that may leak in. At the center of it all, your intuition holds its breath, waiting for the something that will set it off... 

My hands pass over a barrier of sheet rock, coarse under my fingertips. My ears pick up the harsh grating of skin and canvas on plaster. In the background I can hear the sound of water dripping and debris shifting. My skin is already too warm in this confined space and I can feel sweat trickling from my forehead into my ears - from my armpits into the sleeves of my coat. I cannot see any of this. Smoke from the fire, dust from the debris and my own predicament have robbed me of any light source. I lie in the dark with only my thoughts for company. 

There are few things that a man should never experience: the death of his children, the betrayal of a friend, the loss of his faith - and being buried alive. Any of those is enough to break a man and, although I've been fortunate in most of these, Fate has stepped in to balance the scale. 

From years in the service, I've developed a kind of internal measuring device. Crawling along a floor with one hand or foot on the wall can give you the perception that a space is a lot bigger than it really is. Only lots of experience enables you to scale what you think is there down to a realistic size. It comes in handy - sometimes. Other times it can make you downright claustrophobic. 

Like now. If what I'm sensing is correct, I'm in a space roughly twice as wide as I am at the shoulders. It's just deep enough for me to lie mostly on my back with my air tank on. It is not, however, as long as I am. If I think about that too much I'm likely to panic so I'm trying _not_ to think about it too much. On the bright side, it's my feet that are trapped instead of the other end. I could be dead instead. 

Since I'm thinking about silver linings anyway, I begin to list them one by one: my tank alarm hasn't gone off yet so I still have air; when I fell it was kind of at an awkward angle so my legs didn't break when everything else fell on top of me; there's a couple of beams holding up the sheet rock just over my head so I didn't get crushed. Good things, to be sure. 

The corollaries to those points force their way into my optimism, despite my best effort to keep them quiet: to my best calculation, I only had about ten minutes of air left in the bottle when the building collapsed; I'm not really able to feel my legs well so I don't know if they're broken or bleeding or whatever; the sheet rock suspended over me is slowly getting wetter so it's only a matter of time before its soggy enough to collapse under the weight of everything on top of it - and I don't know if I'd survive that. 

The bare skin on my ears and hands tell me the temperature's dropping. That means either the guys are getting a handle on the fire, they're digging me out or I'm going into shock. The increase in wetness under my coat and bunker pants tells me there's a lot more water where I am than there was before. Thank God I didn't fall on my face. 

There's tingling in my legs and feet now, which tells me the pressure's letting up a bit. It sounds insane but I'd almost welcome pain if it meant that I haven't broken my back or damaged my legs beyond repair. I know I may regret that thought later. 

In this confined space the low air alarm sounds as loud as standing next to the base klaxon when it goes off. As I move to shut it off I pause - anyone searching for me should be able to hear it. Despite my desire to silence the damn thing, I stop reaching for it. The effort better be worth it. I don't want to meet my maker with it piercing my eardrums. 

I can picture it now: "What _is_ that unholy noise?"  " _Lo siento,_ Saint Peter - it is my tank alarm. I had hoped..."  "Well you can't come in until it's gone." I will wait on the doorstep of Heaven for the battery to drain... 

It hurts to laugh. One thought sobers me quickly - where was my sixth sense before all of this happened? I can remember no uneasiness, no prickling to warn me that the entire building was about to come down. This is the first time it has failed me. I pray that it is not the last. 

On the heels of that thought comes another: would it not have been better for the end to come quickly, instead of this? I shake my head in anger. _Estupido!_ You are not dead - therefore you are alive and should think like a live man! You have been given a gift! _Usarlo bien!_  

I shift again, hoping to ease the uncomfortable position I'm in. I can't move far due to my pinned legs but I do manage to untwist my back slightly. My questing hands locate the gloves I peeled off to determine the parameters of my... situation. I tuck them in my coat pockets as best I can. Good gloves are hard to come by. 

Unfortunately, my most favourite possession in times like this - my rosary - is tucked safely away in my locker back at the station. I fumble with the heavy clasp at the top of my coat in an attempt to reach my crucifix, but the closure was meant to be opened with two hands and I'm unable to bring my left arm past the sheet rock lying against me. Although it is still pitch black in my cocoon, I close my eyes and will my senses to feel the warm metal cross lying in the hollow of my chest. 

The first sensation is of the slender length of chain curling around the sides of my neck. I can feel a slight twist in the links - there - and then the reassuring weight of the carved gold sitting askew against my right collarbone. I murmur a prayer and then ask humbly for divine assistance. Although I went to confession only two days ago, I make a child's earnest promise to return and accept whatever penance Father Melendez deems fitting. 

I realize with a start that I've dozed off. The tank alarm has gone silent and I push the mask off my face reluctantly. It is in God's hands now. The clean air in the tank is all but gone and I must breathe the tainted air that surrounds me. The greasy tang of smoke-laden air fills my nostrils and I fight off the urge to cough. There isn't really enough room. 

There are other pollutants in the air as well - I can taste them on my tongue. Old wood, burned wood, melted plastic, mouldy fabric - the building we were working on was an old one, each of three floors converted into separate apartments. The fire started on the second level but it didn't take long for the old furnishings and older construction to ignite and spread. I'd been on the second landing keeping the flames at bay while others went up to check for occupants on the third floor. 

I'd forgotten my eyes were closed as they snap open on that last thought. I hope everyone on the third floor got out before the collapse. My memory is patchy at best but I think I remember Chet and Roy passing behind me on their way down the stairs. I'm pretty sure I felt a hand on my shoulder as Chet passed by - Roy had someone slung across his shoulders. 

It must've been in the span of time that I was coming down the stairs that the house collapsed. Only shadows passing through the rectangle of paleness that was the front door told that both Roy and Chet must've gotten out. 

Freed from the memories, I suddenly notice that I can make out the rough surface of plaster less than three inches from my nose. The weight on my legs has lessened quite a bit and the tingling feeling has graduated to actual pain. It isn't severe but it's definitely gathering momentum. I can hear water trickling through the rubble along with a subtle scraping noise. If I really concentrate, my mind's eye comes up with an image of my crewmates shifting the wreckage to locate the void where I am. 

I send up heartfelt thanks to God and repeat my vow to go to confession with renewed conviction. As I conclude my prayer a large slab of sheetrock to my right is suddenly lifted away and the face of my partner appears, briefly shining a flashlight in my face before flicking it away from my sensitive eyes. 

"Here, guys! I found him! He's in here!" he shouts. The words ring like music in my ears.


	16. P is for Phronistery

Roy DeSoto, grocery list in hand, dutifully kissed his wife and children before heading out the door to his pickup truck. His usual vehicle sat quietly in the garage, waiting for his next shift. Not that he minded driving the truck instead - it was perfectly suited to what he had in mind. 

As he began to back out of the driveway, Roy waved at the two small faces watching forlornly from the living room window. He felt a twinge of guilt at leaving them behind but it wasn't strong enough for him to give in to their requests to come along.

Roy chose the biggest, busiest supermarket he could think of and headed off, knowing the trip would take at least two hours if not longer. Whereas anyone else would feel annoyed or intimidated at the thought, Roy could already feel the knots of tension loosening in his shoulder blades. As he drove he hummed along with the radio, unconcerned with the traffic as is began to slow and then crawl,. If he had to spend time stuck in traffic, so much the better.

He was disappointed, however, when the unseen issue with traffic flow cleared up suddenly and the vehicles resumed their brisk pace. All too soon he was pulling into the parking lot of the supermarket, wondering if he should've picked a destination further from home.

With a sigh of resignation, Roy found a parking spot and shut off his truck, taking his time about climbing out. He leisurely found a shopping cart and crossed the lot at a relaxed pace, a small smile gracing his features.

Once inside, Roy started at one end of the store and began traversing each aisle in turn, browsing through the goods but being careful not to grab anything that wasn't on his wife's list. It wouldn't do to inadvertently make Joanne upset after all his hard work at alleviating his stress level.

Once he'd reached the far side, Roy then cruised the perimeter of the store, taking in all the displays and pausing for a while at the deli counter. That done, he proceeded to go through the store again, in the opposite direction.

This time, however, he didn't scan the aisles for new items or bargains. Roy used the shelving as hedgerows in a simplistic maze to keep him on the right path as he let his mind wander.

If someone had asked him ten years ago whether he would use his grocery shopping as a means to escape and unwind, Roy would've laughed at the person and told them they were being ridiculous. Now, however, Roy would've freely admitted - to anyone but Joanne - that his outings were the best method he'd found yet to combine staying on his wife's good side with getting time to himself.

Not to mention the added benefit of being able to mindlessly wander the aisles while simultaneously sorting through all the thoughts running through his brain. Roy very rarely suffered from sleepless nights at home anymore. Where once he would sit in the living room until the small hours of the morning, rehashing the events of his last shift until the sun began to lighten the east, now Roy enjoyed a solid eight hours of slumber undisturbed by tumultuous thoughts.

As Roy traversed the aisles, blind to the weekly specials, his went through the files in his brain, sorting through the events of the past few days and laying them to rest. As he cruised the cereal aisle, he chuckled softly at the memory of the Phantom's latest attack on his erstwhile partner. A trip through frozen foods lay to rest any doubt as to whether he made the right call on going after the stranded hiker. The detergent section finally wiped the slate clean of his irritation at John's skirt chasing - _again_. It came back a bit in the condiment aisle, however, when he realized that next shift would find his partner in yet another pickle but cruising past the cakes in the bakery reminded him of the innate good-heartedness of his friend and the irritation passed swiftly.

His spirit renewed, Roy headed for the cashiers at the front of the store easily locating a short queue for one of the tills. When he finally reached the middle-aged redhead at the counter and she asked in a bored tone "Find everything ya needed?" Roy easily replied

"I did. Thank you."


End file.
